


Secrets & Keepers - Supernova

by Maud Greyluck (MauraMaudJadeit)



Series: Secrets & Keepers [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Identity Issues, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Profanity, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Teenage Rebellion, no details but statement that such things took place, references to past sexual abuse of minors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 99,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26581729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MauraMaudJadeit/pseuds/Maud%20Greyluck
Summary: Hermione learns the hard way that there's a lot of truth that shouldn't be passed around. It's a story of multiple crises starting from identity, trust in one's loved ones, the trust which one's friend put in one. It's a story of doubts which people voice about other people. It's a story of friendships that are forged in crisis. It's also a love story as much as a story about love.A pre-PoA AU. Part 3 of Secrets & Keepers series. Can be read as a stand-alone.
Series: Secrets & Keepers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1362331
Comments: 146
Kudos: 50





	1. 27th June 1993

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or anything you can recognise from any books or TV series or movies. I do however take liberties with the plots or mentions provided by JKR or other writers. The only profit I'm getting out of it is improving my English.
> 
> **Title:** Secrets & Keepers – Supernova
> 
> **Rating/Warnings:** R/M [AU; identity crisis; adoption; teenage rebellion; canon typical violence; profanity; discussion of and references to past events of gore nature; references to off-screen original character deaths; pure-blood propaganda]
> 
> **Characters and pairings:** Hermione Granger with the Granger family and wide assortment of original characters (some of which were referenced in Secrets & Keepers – Collision Curse) and surprise guest appearances from canon characters. References to Collision Course pairings and a couple of minor OC pairings. No Hermione's pairings aside of brief mentions about her crush on Lockhart.
> 
> **Summary:** Hermione learns the hard way that there's a lot of truth that shouldn't be passed around. It's a story of multiple crises starting from identity, trust in one's loved ones, the trust which one's friend put in one. It's a story of doubts which people voice about other people. It's a story of friendships that are forged in crisis. It's also a love story as much as a story about love.A pre-PoA AU.
> 
> **Word count:** About 6600.
> 
> **Spoilers:** Canon spoilers for PS/SS, CoS and pre-Hogwarts PoA. Linked to but doesn't require reading of Secrets & Keepers – Collision Course.
> 
> **Author's note:**
> 
> _Dedicated to LivininCorsets without whom I wouldn't even consider writing this. But she made me think about it for a very long time and as I did I realised that I could make it work with minor adjustments to the general plot of Secrets & Keepers series._
> 
> This story initially had been the outlet of my frustration with the speed with which Secrets & Keepers – Collision Course was going (220 000 words for about 40 hours of the real-time with multiple references to the past of the characters included). Especially chapter eleven had been driving me up the wall with 'love the explanations, love the snark but it's too bleeping long and that would confuse them at the moment'. Hence substantial cropping of the first draft of it and taking out my frustration on this one. And to think that initially, it had started as one chapter that was supposed to serve as an intermission between Collision Course and Entropy…
> 
> **Updates Tuesday until I would be able to determine how many chapters it would have in the end. On a good note I know when it would end, at the same point as Collision Course had.**
> 
> _Also dedicated to all of my readers who stuck with me for so long. Thank You, I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione learns the hard way that there's a lot of truth that shouldn't be passed around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by Regnbuen

_Gossip needn't be false to be evil – there's a lot of truth that shouldn't be passed around._

_~ Frank A. Clark_

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter one : 27th June 1993**

_Hermione Granger, 27th June 1993, 34 Willoughby Road, Hampstead, London._

The splat against the window, followed by a slide down onto the narrow windowsill, and after a few seconds a flop into the garden waste bin would have woken her up if she was asleep in the first place. But because she wasn't, it barely shook her out of her stupor.

It wasn't one of Errol's most graceful arrivals to her home but it was far from the worst. Because nothing could beat colliding with the chandelier and falling straight into Grandma's birthday cake, although faceplanting (beakplanting to be exact) into her bowl of ice-cream at Holly's engagement party was just as embarrassing, if not more disastrous than the former.

Because Grandma knew and Holly didn't. Come to think about it, she had to know the truth from the very beginning. She wasn't Grandpa who could have been distracted quite easily (especially if he was tired), and at the critical time he had been away working on an oil rig. Not a lot of things could get past Grandma, at least not big things.

Like magic. As far as Hermione could remember Grandma was the only person in the immediate family that wasn't freaked out by nightlights turning themselves on or mysteriously appearing chocolate puddings. She was also the only one who reacted to the grand summoning of the neighbourhood's teddy bears with an amused, fond smile rather than worry. Neither was she surprised when shortly after her eleventh birthday (after a long and detailed meeting with Professor McGonagall) Mum and Dad announced to her and Grandpa that rather than going to Mayfield as planned, next year Hermione would be heading to a boarding school for witches. Because a witch was something that she had always been apparently. Grandma's reaction was predictable: of course, she's always been a witch, sweetheart, have you been living under a rock?

Had she been the one who had a meeting with Professor McGonagall instead of, or together with her parents she most certainly would have gotten more out of the whole conversation than Mum and Dad did. Not that Mum and Dad had spent the whole meeting nodding at what they considered appropriate places. That wasn't the case. Once they got over the initial shock they dove into the questioning. But she couldn't help but feel that Grandma would have been able to drag more information out of the professor, than they did.

Mum and Dad asked Professor McGonagall about the quality of education offered, after school activities, student clubs, school history and notable graduates. If Grandma had been present during that meeting she wouldn't be easily distracted by words like best, biggest and most prestigious like Mum and Dad had.

Not that Hermione hated going to Hogwarts. Even before she made friends with Harry and Ron – while Neville Longbottom was the only student in their entire year that willingly talked to her – she felt more at home at Hogwarts than she'd ever been in the muggle world. She belonged to Hogwarts, opinions of the close-minded idiots like Draco Malfoy and his little pug girlfriend (or whatever she was to him) and their merry cliques be damned.

Not that she really cared about it. Yes, Mudblood stung, and at times made her fingers twitch slightly in the direction of her wand while mentally going through a list of what would have been a nice thing to hex either, or both of them with if she had less restrain. But they were just words spoken by idiots. She didn't have to prove anything to them. No, the only people whose opinions (mostly) mattered to her were those of people responsible for her schooling, and therefore her future success in life.

And she really wanted to be a successful witch. She was still unsure about a particular field she wanted to excel at, which was why she was always going all in. It was also why she had chosen every elective offered to third years, even if Professor McGonagall tried to talk her into dropping at least one of them. How could she do that when she didn't know what would be essential to her future success?

The only thing she knew for certain after her meeting with McGonagall, was that once she completed her O. W. L.s, she would most likely be dropping Astronomy. So far in that field, Muggles proved to be far more advanced, and it didn't seem as if that was going to change any time soon. Sure there were certain aspects of Astronomy that bled into other fields, like into Herbology or Potions. But for that, one didn't need seven years of Astronomy education, just several books on how movements of certain planets or astronomical bodies affected certain plants or potions.

She was a bit put out by not having the chance to check how much she learned that year. She had a feeling that she would have done well even though she spent nearly two months in the hospital wing. But next school year was going to be her year, and she wasn't going to be deterred from achieving her goal of succeeding in every field.

Those were the doubts and dreams of Hermione who just recently came back from school, eager to spend some time with Mum and Dad. One that looked forward to spending some time with her cousins, one that wanted to dance at Holly's wedding, to argue with Hector and to inspire awe in the twins. At each and every opportunity she would be missing Grandma and Grandpa, who would have loved to dance at Holly's wedding.

That Hermione had risen from her bed yesterday, just in time to share breakfast with her parents before they left for work. They were going in even though it was a Saturday, but they had been working additional hours just to save enough time off to spend six weeks of holidays with Hermione. Not that as the owners of the practice they couldn't just have those additional weeks off, but they wanted to do good by their employees. The majority of them Hermione knew since early childhood, they had their set vacation routines from which they hardly deviated. Doctor Carter always took his time off in May because he didn't like too hot weather and crowded places. Doctor Roberts preferred his turn between June and July, just as Doctor Jenkins preferred hers between August and September. Doctor Hawkins took his leave in the winter to enjoy Australian summers.

Once her parents left for work she cleaned up after breakfast and got herself ready for the day. Then she took her potions, finally finishing with the muscle stimulant, which she really didn't think was needed after she got home from Hogwarts. Still, she dutifully continued to take it because that was what Madam Pomfrey asked of her during her last visit to the Hospital wing. The only potions left for her to take was a general restorative potion, a muscle relaxant as needed, and the anti-nausea and appetite improving potions (for as long as she was going to require them).

It wasn't so bad for someone who just a month ago was in the state of a very deep magical paralysis, which was what petrification was on a biological level. Granted the visible physical recovery from it was nearly instantaneous, but each living victim walked away from it with lingering aftereffects. The common trait was weakened muscle strength, accompanied by general although very mild weakness in the whole body. Appetite and nausea, and lack or presence of it, were unique to each victim. Colin Creevey for example was ravenous after he woke up, and when they were leaving Hogwarts he was still gorging himself. Penelope Clearwater on the other hand had both appetite and was constantly nauseous. Hermione herself won the lottery, she didn't really want to eat and she really couldn't eat, at least not without the aid of the potions. Each meal she successfully consumed was thanks to the potions.

They were the only thing that Madam Pomfrey could offer her to deal with it, along with a suggestion to keep to bland and easy on the stomach food (at least until nausea would pass). The suggestion was hardly helpful, but the potions themselves were doing wonders. The only downside of them, was that for them to remain effective in the long run she had to use no more than one per day, according to the instructions scrawled on a piece of parchment that came with the box (that looked quite similar to the commentary she found on her potions essays).

Naturally, because it was Snape and not, say someone with an existing bedside manner, he was almost gleeful in listing adverse effects, as well what would happen if by any chance she overdosed on them. She was disinclined to deviate from the received instructions, because if there was one other thing her time as a catgirl taught her, aside of meticulously checking from where biological material to be used in Polyjuice potion came from, if she was ever going to use that potion again, it was that if Snape got involved into making an antidote to reverse one of your brilliant ideas, then you had to swallow your pride (and dignity and pretty much anything else) and accept the running commentary about the state of your brain.

As for the commentary itself? Snape was a resourceful sadist that much she found out during her stay in the hospital wing. Had it been anyone else or someone from whom she didn't steal the supplies for the potion that turned her into a cat, she wouldn't be watching his every movement or the tiniest twitch of his face as intently as she had. Once Madam Pomfrey led him to her bedside to help evaluate her condition, she was certain that it had taken him less than three minutes to figure out what was wrong with her. That said he devoted the rest of the lunch break to discuss her condition with Madam Pomfrey.

It was a very enlightening and to a certain degree fascinating conversation about certain forms of malediction that, had it been anyone else and in different circumstances, would have her hanging on the edge of the bed between pestering the man with questions. Unfortunately, it had been Snape, who devoted an entire month to torturing her with antidotes that weren't exactly doing their job. She knew why he was making and delivering them, occasionally sounding almost convincingly concerned about them not working on her when the newest potion he delivered did exactly nothing except making her ears twitch for the entire morning.

She knew that if she gave up the entire plot, the right antidote would appear at her bedside within a few hours at the most, if not immediately (after all he had a lot of time to prepare it). But she wasn't going to sell out Harry and Ron for the price of faster shedding, and most certainly not to Snape. She probably would have felt tempted to admit the whole thing to Dumbledore if the stunt with the car hadn't put them on extremely thin ice earlier that year. Dumbledore surely would have seen the reason and probably would be willing to overlook the theft (to a certain degree, like providing financial compensation for it, or putting them in detention for the rest of the year). But because their situation looked like it did, she didn't exactly have much of a choice.

So, she set herself to outwait Snape. Yes, he purposely made her recovery longer than it should have been. Yes, on several occasions he purposely made her sick, but he couldn't do absolutely anything, or do her any serious damage without alerting Madam Pomfrey to his agenda. She knew that she could outwait him and she was going to outwait him even if she had to spend the rest of the year as a cat and study History of Magic from Ron's notes (which, at least at this time of the year, were worse than Harry's).

After all dripping water hollows out the stone. The most ironic thing about that entire predicament was that Snape was probably thinking the very same thing. But in the end, she prevailed, lost the fur and the rest of the unnecessary feline appendages while Snape seethed.

That said, Snape's potions were the only thing that was currently keeping her from a trip to the doctors and a battery of tests that would surely follow the examination. And she didn't want to find out how the petrification looked from the point of view of the Muggle doctors, and not only because she would have to tell her parents everything.

It was a slightly unsettling discovery, finding out that the only information her parents had gotten about both of her stays in the hospital wing, was that she was hospitalised and that her condition wasn't life-threatening on both entries. For a brief moment after she found out she wanted to rectify both statements but no sooner than when she opened her mouth, she realised what she was going to tell and to whom. It was her parents, who had enough experience with her Muggle schools to not give Hogwarts the benefit of doubt. Had her parents been younger, or if she had siblings they would probably have been less invested in tilting at the windmills with the magical educational system.

But no, she was an only child and one who her parents had quite late in life when compared to other kids. Not that their age affected her parents most of the time. No, they were very active and they always ate healthily, but there were times when their age difference became more pronounced.

After last year there was no doubt in her mind that if she breathed a single word about the basilisk to her parents she would have been removed from Hogwarts before the day was fully out. Her cat phase wouldn't warrant the same reaction but most definitely they would have gotten the whole plot out of her, and then they would demand a discussion with Dumbledore and Snape…

Ignorance was truly bliss, even if she didn't feel comfortable with keeping things from them. It wasn't as if she was going to do it forever, right? At least she hoped that she wouldn't have to. Maybe after losing to Harry for the third time He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would decide to give up. Some people tended to give up after three.

But because she had chosen that particular route, she had to keep her potions away from the prying eyes of her parents. Which was relatively easy at home, but once they would leave for France it might require planning and some acrobatics. As would eating, come to think about it.

At breakfast, she was getting away with the porridge and fruits which was easy. Most lunches she spent home alone if she didn't drop by her parents' practice when they were planning to head out for lunch. Soups were what she was living on, mostly bland ones that were supposed to be easy on the stomach and in small portions. Hopefully, the whole problem would just go away like it was supposed to before they would leave for France, and that would be one less thing she would have to hide from her parents.

Once ready for the day, she spent some time puttering around the kitchen preparing ingredients for dinner. It was hardly any different than preparing a potion and it gave her some amount of control over what they should be having for dinner. Maybe if she continued to quietly push the issue then maybe her parents would leave dinner making to her and she wouldn't have to worry about them watching what she was eating too closely.

Late morning found her outside, puttering around the garden and an abandoned patch of herbs she managed to plant last year but didn't exactly have a chance to maintain properly at the time. Back then it was supposed to be a part of an experiment which still seemed interesting to her but in her excitement to get the whole thing started she managed to overlook the obvious, that her involvement would corrupt the data. Some of the plants didn't survive spring cleaning; some had and were allowed to grow out wild. To get the whole thing running again she would have to plan and properly prepare the experiment before approaching her parents for help. Dad would be uncertain but Mum would probably agree.

Later on, she wasn't sure how she ended up front since no post arrived that morning and everything up front was Dad's pride and joy that wasn't supposed to be touched by any hand but his. All that mattered was that she stepped out of the house and saw Mrs Lambert, their neighbour from the other side of the street struggle with getting a bunch of paint cans out of the boot of her car. Because she wasn't raised by wolves, and because Mrs Lambert used to be her sitter, offering help to the older woman was a natural thing to do. Even if Mrs Lambert wasn't one of the kindest old ladies in the area she would have done so because she was taught better.

Which was how she found herself lugging paint cans from room to room in Mrs Lambert's townhouse because Mrs Lambert wanted to have everything prepared for the workers when they would come on Monday. Why a group of four men wouldn't be able to move a bunch of paint cans around she wasn't sure, but she decided to regard it as an exercise and kept that question to herself while Mrs Lambert directed her around the place. Once done she declined Mrs Lambert's offer to have lunch with her and was ready to get back home.

She had already opened the front door when she saw that the shoelace in one of her trainers untied itself, and because it was another thing that was deeply ingrained in her, rather than step outside to tie it up she simply let go of the front door and crouched down to tie it.

Dulled slightly by the sound of the front door shutting, she could hear Mrs Lambert answering her phone through the open door to her flat. Hermione smiled to herself as she noted from the greeting that it was the old woman's sister that was calling, and knowing from earlier experience that they both could talk for hours, she turned around to close the open door because there was a chance that Mrs Lambert would forget to do so.

However the next words Mrs Lambert spoke to her sister chilled her to her very core.

"You remember the Grangers?" she said. "Yes, those dentists that settled down in that house on the other side of the street that you always liked. No, not the white one, the other one. Yes. Their girl helped me today with the paint. Yes, the one that spends most of the year away at school. Not that one, Fran. I meant the adopted one of the dentists and not the real one of the doctors. Well, so far their luck still holds, she's such a dear…"

She had no idea how she made it back home in one piece. The only thing she managed to register was that the light and air around her changed. It was only when she made it into the welcoming safety of her home and found herself staring into a mirror that her brain decided to catch up with the programme.

It was a preposterous idea and surely Mrs Lambert got it wrong. Maybe she mistook her for the doctors' daughter because Gloria didn't look like her parents. For certain, her hair looked different and there was something about her eyes…

It couldn't have been her, could it? It was a downright ridiculous idea. Granted some people who hadn't seen them along with Dad sometimes had problems with believing that she and Mum were related, but most of them were racists. She knew that she didn't have the typical facial features of a black person but neither did her cousins, not completely at the very least.

In general, looks were hard to predict in her family, at least on her Mum's side. Mum's paternal grandfather was a son of former slaves who ran away from what was speculated to be a general area of New Orleans. It was even unclear whether or not he was born in America or Barbados. One thing that was certain however, was that after his mother passed away he sailed around the world with his father until his father's declining health forced them to settle down. In England of all places. Together they bought a bookstore of which Hermione's great-grandmother quickly became a regular customer. The rest became history, they married for love and against her parents' wishes, raised together four children and lost three sons in the First World War. They managed to live long enough to see some of their grandchildren.

Grandma inherited her features and skin tone from her father, and like her mother she fixated herself on a man of a different race when she grew up. Grandpa was very receptive to her encouragements to maintain contact and they didn't waste time on a long engagement. They spent over sixty years together and brought up six kids. Most of those kids married, and because their parents did their best to raise them respecting all cultures that was how they chose their partners. So in certain cases, it was hard to predict after whom their children would get their features and skin colour and to what degree.

Hermione was one of those cases. Her skin tone was closer to Dad's (white British that tended to burn when exposed to sun); her facial features were also closer to Dad's. The colour of her eyes and hair was something she got from Mum but the structure of her hair… Mum, Grandma and some of her aunts did their best to find something to help her manage it but she had yet to get her hands on something that made it manageable.

Mrs Lambert surely got it wrong, just because she didn't look as much as Mum as Mrs Lambert expected her to… She was wrong, she had to be. Hermione had to be her parents' child and not some… some waif that her parents found on their doorstep one day. There had to be evidence to contrary Mrs Lambert's statement. There were photographs, hundreds or maybe even thousands of them that Mum and Dad kept since the day they met. There had to be at least one from the duration of Mum's pregnancy with her.

There weren't any. At least not in the living-room, which housed the current albums from about the last three years and the big one for the favourite ones. The big one was commissioned by Grandpa as a wedding gift to Mum and Dad, and while through the first few years of their marriage they used it as an album for all of their photos, at some point they decided to keep only the most important and treasured moments in it. Their favourite photographs from their wedding were in that album, along with Hermione's baby pictures.

The big one hosted photographs of such things as Hermione's birthdays, first days in all schools except Hogwarts (hardly memorable for Hermione). There were also candid shots with her grandparents and her 'I'm two days old' photograph but there were no pictures of Mum while she was pregnant.

Maybe they just weren't in the big album. Keeping order in the albums was Mum's thing and maybe her pregnancy with Hermione was like Aunt Tracy's pregnancy with the twins (which was horrible and she made sure that every member of her family knew that). So maybe Mum didn't want to look at those photographs too often and she relegated them to their appropriate albums in the attic.

When Hermione got into the attic and inspected the albums she realised that it wasn't the case. There were three albums from the year of 1979, two and a half of which was filled with photographs from after Hermione's birth and mostly with Hermione's pictures. The remaining half of one album consisted of photographs from some winter wedding, candid walks in parks and from Easter. Weirdly, there was no photograph from between Easter and Hermione's birth even if Grandma's and Grandpa's birthdays should be between the two.

They could have been misplaced, she decided, even if deep inside she knew that Mum wouldn't allow that to ever happen. She kept looking but the photographs from spring and summer 1979 weren't in any albums from surrounding years.

She dug through the box of the photographs that were discarded from the albums due to some defects. They were however still dear enough to Mum to preserve them and keep order in them.

There was no spring or summer of the year 1979 anywhere. It was as if the visible proof from that period didn't exist. But it had to exist, somewhere. They weren't in the living room or the attic. She briefly inspected her parents' office but it had too many hiding places to properly search it before her parents would come back.

And Merlin, what should she tell her parents when they come back and find her frantically tearing down the whole house looking for…

… the face of Jessica Feng flashed both in the distance through the window and Hermione's memory summoning one of her worst childhood tormentors with all the brutal clarity.

Along with that came the memory of Hermione's greatest triumphs, which wasn't much of a triumph at all. It did feel like one though, for about ten seconds when her parents, Jessica and Jessica's parents along with the headmistress were too stunned to react. Apparently, she was the first person ever to point out to Jessica's face that an Asian man and Indian woman would never be able to produce a blue-eyed blonde with white British complexion.

She could practically hear the echo of the lecture she received after she came back from school. It went for what felt like hours and kept going in circles. Yes, Jessica was a horrible person that bullied other students but that didn't mean that Hermione had to descend to her level by rubbing her parentage into her face.

It would have been a perfect opening. One which she would have used if she was in her parents' place if what Mrs Lambert claimed was true. They didn't use it though, which meant that either she wasn't adopted, which was an obvious conclusion…

… or that they hid it better than the Fengs.

Her stomach twisted violently at the thought.

It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. She was her parents' child. She looked like her parents. Mrs Lambert was wrong and she allowed her to get into her head.

But…

She was her parents' only child. Mum was forty years old when she had her and her parents were married for nearly fifteen years at that time. Their friends from medical school had grown children by the time she was born; a couple of them even had a grandkid her age.

They both adored kids and judging by the photographs they were adored by the kids in return. The same could be said about her cousins, Mum and Dad's arms were usually filled with smaller cousins at family gatherings (not that she was a particularly jealous child, for some time she used to fantasise about coming back home with one of her cousins as a sibling).

People who loved children so much and who were loved by them in return would definitely try for one between their wedding day and her birth. Maybe not as early as right away but within five years…

"You're so white-passing that you might just call yourself white."

Hector's old comment cut her to the core at the time and got him a very stern talk with Grandma about respecting other people in general. But she heard enough 'oh' or 'I'm sorry' when she pointed out where her Mum was or when she stated 'that's my Mum' to someone to know that it was true.

She passed as white. Period. Just like Jin, her cousin from Tokyo will always most likely be Asian passing, like her dad. It seemed that mother nature liked to play on the extremes in her Mum's family. Her, Hector, Jin and the twins were the prime examples of it. She and Jin from their mothers took only their hair and eye colour. Hector's skin was darker than his father's (completely ignoring Aunt Fiona's looks that had the same white British complexion as Hermione's dad). The twins were another thing. Their facial structure was identical and they balanced their parents' features quite well but their individual skin colour was off, not drastically but quite visibly (which annoyed them to no end because what was the point of having an identical twin brother if you couldn't convince people that you were your brother). The rest of the cousins didn't differ too drastically in looks from their parents.

"Mudblood!"

But was she really?

She was the only witch in the family, that much she knew for certain. In that regard, both the Grangers and the Brooks were dreadfully boring. The most magical thing in both families was Aunt Cornelia's knee that could predict the sudden turns in the weather and that was it.

But Grandma accepted it and wasn't surprised by the fact at all. Then again nothing could surprise Grandma. Mum, I want to become a chef and move to Japan most certainly didn't. Neither did, Mum, I want to move to Australia and drive trucks for a living. Grandma was always unmoved and very supportive. It was Grandpa that was more prone to occasional freakout.

Maybe that was why she took everything that life threw at her with a smile and acceptance, occasionally humming 'Que Sera Sera'. She cherished the good things and was always able to find a way out of a tight spot.

But maybe the reason why sooner than the others she accepted Hermione's otherness was that she knew that otherness could be expected from her. Mum wouldn't be able to hide the pregnancy or lack of thereof from her. From Grandpa and her siblings, sure. Grandpa spent that year working on an oil rig and at that point in time, the rest of Hermione's aunt and uncles lived far enough away for the family to not see each other for several months.

Grandma had to know, and if Hermione asked she would tell her the truth.

Would she?

Of course, she would, Grandma never lied to her before and she wasn't very big on sugar coating.

She was also dead for nearly a year so she could keep speculating what Grandma would do or not do, but it wouldn't change a thing.

She knew nothing for certain. All she had was Mrs Lambert's comment; lack of photographs from the period of her mother's pregnancy with her; Grandma's acceptance of her magical abilities and her looks.

She could ask her parents.

But what sort of an answer would she get from them? Of course you're our daughter, Hermione? Or, now you know the truth? Or even worse: who told you? That probably was the worst. Could she expect a straight answer out of them? They had a perfect opening during the whole Feng debacle and they ignored it.

Why?

Were they hoping that she would never find out? Or were they certain that she would never find out? She didn't know which was worse, counting on their luck to hold out or believing that they could have gotten away with it. But did they? Or did someone else? Because if Mrs Lambert was right and she was adopted, then there had to exist some sort of records. Of course, there had to be records, people don't just hand over their children to other people without ascertaining that parental rights and obligations would from that day forward befall on those other people.

Maybe like with the photographs, documents had been hidden from her. But where? Could they still be at home? They should be, after all, they were private documents and Mum always liked to keep private documents separated from work-related ones. On the other hand, at home they could find their way into Hermione's hands even by accident. The lack of photographs proved how dedicated they were in maintaining the lie.

About an hour later she proved that as dedicated as they were, they didn't take into account her determination to uncover it. Her official birth certificate and her passport she found in the top left drawer of the desk in the office. But in the bottom one, buried underneath odd ends of paperwork that wasn't filed elsewhere was an ominously looking folder.

The question of could it have been that easy had been answered by her parents earlier return from work. She barely had enough time to slam the drawer shut and to pick a magazine that was lying on the desk.

At the sight of her hidden behind what turned out to be a sport one Dad made a joke about Hermione taking an interest in footballers. Hermione had enough reflex to affirm that the guy she found herself looking at looked nice, even though she wasn't sure whether or not she really found him appealing. She might have been a little bit older and she felt more mature than her dorm-mates but at the same time like the rest of them, she fell under Lockhart's spell. And unlike the rest of them, she didn't shake it off as quickly as they did. Lockhart quickly became old news to Lavender, like pretty much all of her crushes, not that Hermione kept up with them since Lavender wasn't her friend. That particular honour belonged to Parvati and her sister Padma and through the first year, Sally-Ann Perks.

Hermione hadn't been close with any of them. They reminded her too much of the girls from her primary school and the less said about those the better. Not that she arrived at Hogwarts with prejudice born out of the bad experience. No, she naively hoped that she would make friends there and she did eventually but it wasn't the sort of friends part of her expected to make. Maybe if she had, if she made one female friend then maybe shaking off her crush on Lockhart wouldn't have taken as long as it had.

But the issue of male and female friends couldn't get any further from her mind, not with the folder that could hold all the answers she needed so close and yet so far away. What awaited her instead of answers was slow torture of Disney movies and dinner she could barely stomach.

She went to bed relatively early but she couldn't fall asleep at all. She listened to her parents' footsteps and moving around the house, performing their usual evening ablutions, including the intercourse. To be fair they did their best to be quiet and they kept that part of their life out of places in which she could see them but as hypervigilant as she was she could just tell that they were doing it.

It seemed as if aeons had passed before she dared to slip out of bed, wholly convinced that they were sleeping. And as experienced as she became in sneaking around in the last two years, the short and quite simple road of just going downstairs felt longer than a walk from Gryffindor tower to the dungeons.

With her heart in her throat, she eventually made her way into the study, and as gently as possible slid the drawer open, fully expecting her parents to jump out at her from the shadows. But they didn't.

The trip back upstairs felt even longer, and made her more anxious due to the incriminating evidence in her hands. If it was incriminating evidence. The thought that it could have been anything else occurred to her just as her hand rested on the doorknob.

Finally, she found herself staring at the topmost page in the folder and bypassing legal jargon she went straight to the information she needed. She read her full name, then her mother's name, biological mother's name in a soft whisper, noted that her biological father was unknown, passed over her parents' names with a growing sense of uneasiness in her stomach which spiked even more when she saw the signature of the witnesses underneath the signatures of her parents.

She was born to Bertha Marilla Blythe but her own surname right from the beginning was Granger. Her full name was filled by three different handwritings that matched in the following order: one of the witnesses, Anne Shirley; her grandmother Monique Brooks; and her Mum, which to a certain extent was understandable because even though to everybody she was known as Mrs Granger her full legal name was Helen Brooks Granger.

What wasn't understandable was why people of quite high intelligence, like her parents, allowed themselves to get manoeuvred into an adoption that had no or little to no legal standing. It probably wasn't, hence the lack of incriminating evidence in places where it mattered. Hence the names that definitely weren't real. What were the odds that a Bertha Marilla Blythe would run into an Anne Shirley, let alone sign any sort of legal paperwork together? Especially one that placed the new-born baby of the former in the care of strangers. No wonder they did their best to hide it from her.

But why had they had done it? They led a successful life, their financial situation was stable, so why didn't they go with the adoption through official channels, ones that left the trace of adoption records? She had no proof but she highly doubted that her mother, and maybe even Anne Shirley had been Muggles, they were possibly Muggleborn or Muggle raised, at the very least they were familiar with Muggle literature.

Why? Why had they done it?

She was born 18th September 1979, and the year of 1979, as well as ones that lead to it, and ones that followed, were bad for the wizarding world. History books, recent history books, were the ones she reached for when she learned that she was a witch, and unlike with books on Muggle history it was material her parents couldn't filter very well. So she managed to get until the very end of a tiny little book where a young witch described the practices of He-Who-Must-Be-Not-Named's followers, before her parents caught up with what she read. It was a nasty reading, and it made her all the more grateful to Harry Potter for destroying the dark lord long before she met him. The lack of a father's name in the file signified that most probably he would always remain unknown to her, as he had been to her biological mother. It was no wonder why she decided to get rid of her, who would wish to keep the child of her rapist.

Her biological parents were a rapist and his victim, most probably a Muggleborn or Muggle raised one going by her alias.

Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction instead of bringing it back like it was supposed to, was simply not present. Her life was a lie, her identity was a lie, one that was maintained with careful diligence and would have been maintained for the rest of her life if she didn't stumble into it by accident.

The question that remained was: how had Mrs Lambert found out the truth?

TBC


	2. 28th June 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione interrogates the neighbour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Tuesday until I would be able to determine how many chapters it would have in the end.
> 
> Also dedicated to all of my readers who stuck with me for so long. Thank You, I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism.

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter two: 28th June 1993**

_28th June 1993, 34 Willoughby Road, Hampstead, London_

She eventually got an answer to her question, but not before enduring a happy family Sunday that started with a missive from Ron about his misadventure with calling Harry, and attempt to warn Hermione off from doing the same Calling Harry was something she was planning to do, but not before gauging which time of the day was the best to do so, and even then, it would have required some sort of a rouse. Now thanks to Ron and his moronic admission that he was Harry's friend from school, that was out of the question for a couple of weeks, to lull Harry's uncle into a false sense of security that no freak would call his home.

"You are aware that curiosity killed the cat, young lady?" asked Mrs Lambert sceptically when Hermione cornered her on Monday morning after her parents had left for work.

"You started it," said Hermione simply. "And I have been told that satisfaction tends to raise overly curious felines from the grave so…" she looked at the old woman expectantly.

"I wish I hadn't," Mrs Lambert muttered.

"But you did," Hermione stated firmly.

The old woman sighed and leaned against the back of her armchair before she answered, "I won't bore you to tears with my family backstory, but the only thing which you need to know is that we used to keep a handful of properties all around London, which over the decades served various purposes. Some of them provided us with a steady and quite handsome income, but our parents never aspired to be perceived as rich, nor did we ever really have the desire to act as such."

She paused to reach for her cup of tea and took a sip before she continued, "A couple of those properties were too small or too far away from interesting sites to warrant turning them into hotels without worrying about them turning into love nests paid by the hour. Mother was always against that. Some of them were deemed decent enough for respectable tenants, but some of them mother decided to turn into unofficial shelters. This house," she motioned with her hand at the floor, "used to be one of them. It was big and spacious enough for single mothers with their brood, so those were our usual tenants."

"And she was one of them?" asked Hermione softly.

"In a way," Mrs Lambert sighed. "You have to understand that it was ages ago, and I only saw her twice, maybe thrice. All the details regarding her arrival I settled with another woman that accompanied her when she arrived," she paused. "She introduced herself as Anne Shirley, a clerk in some small office whose name I have since forgotten. She asked about a room for her sister that was running away from her abusive boyfriend, and gave me reasons why she couldn't stay with her. She did warn me that she was pregnant, but a pregnant woman seeking shelter from an abusive bastard in this house was nothing new to me," she sighed. "Some of them since returned to their abusers, while some moved on with their lives. She was going to be no different. My job was to ensure that the small attic flat was ready for her arrival, and given her condition all furniture should be prearranged so she wouldn't have to move it herself."

"And then what happened?" asked Hermione.

"They arrived at the tail end of the storm, both soaked to the bone, and she…" she paused. "She appeared to be in pain. At the time I thought nothing of it, but in retrospect, I should have realised that she was in labour," she shook her head. "I have no idea why they didn't headto the hospital. Shortly after they arrived they were joined by a stout, dark-skinned woman that remained with them, until many hours later she came down in the company of a cloaked individual, as well as a man that a few years later recognised as your father."

"And it didn't strike you as odd?" Hermione asked sceptically.

"It wouldn't be the first or the last time," Mrs Lambert grimaced. "The only odd thing about it was the speed. You have to understand that many of my tenants from that period were young women, mostly new mothers, single mothers. Motherhood is a struggle even when you have another pair of hands to help you, but when you don't…" she sighed. "Some can't handle it; some ask for help, some receive it. Some make arrangements and for their sake as well as mine, I never asked for names. That way I never had to confirm or deny something I did not know of."

"That's stupid," Hermione mumbled.

"No, my dear," Mrs Lambert shook her head. "My first prerogative was ensuring the safety of all the occupants of the house. You have no idea how many drunken and abusive bastards I would have at the front door if this house was ever recognised as an official shelter. And how I was supposed to protect them? By throwing dirty nappies at them?" she stared at Hermione expectantly. "No, it was better to keep it quiet, and despite that I nearly always had a full house. Some of them stayed a few days, some weeks, some a couple of months. One or two even stayed a couple of years."

"But you aren't keeping them now," Hermione pointed out.

Mrs Lambert reached for her cup of tea and took the longest sip, Hermione had ever seen someone take.

"Not here at the very least," Hermione breathed out.

Mrs Lambert lowered the cup just a little before she muttered, "This neighbourhood became too bloody posh for that. Too many curious housewives who have nothing else to do but gossip."

"Not all of them," Hermione muttered.

"Honey, your mother is an exception, that doesn't make her a rule," Mrs Lambert replied.

"Speaking of my mother," started Hermione and hesitated. "What was the name she gave you?"

"Bertha Blythe," the old woman replied.

"And you believed her?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"She was the first," Mrs Lambert admitted. "But through this house went several Anne Shirley and a couple of Diana Barry over the years. Got a handful of Bennet sisters too."

"Pardon?" Hermione frowned.

"Good book," Mrs Lambert said simply. "Maybe a little too frivolous for a girl your age but most of them would have read it by now anyway," she added with a soft smile. "You remind me greatly of Lizzie."

"Thank you?" Hermione offered hesitantly.

"It's not that much of a compliment young lady," Mrs Lambert continued. "Make no mistake she is the wisest character in the entire book but as wise and brave she is she also has her flaws. Being mouthy is certainly one of them," she paused. "It's a good read though," she smiled. "One that I think you should read, both as an inspiration and a warning."

"I don't need a reading recommendation," Hermione muttered. "I need to find my biological mother."

"Do you have any idea how many young women seek their luck in London every day?" Mrs Lambert offered. "It's an astounding number, and since then she could have moved away…" she paused and frowned. "But I might be able to help a little," she added after a moment.

"Did she leave a forwarding address?" asked Hermione breathlessly.

"She did not," Mrs Lambert replied. "But Anne Shirley did. If only I could remember what it was. You will have to excuse me for a moment," she added before she stood up.

She headed towards a small desk in the corner and after rummaging through the topmost drawer for a couple of minutes, she reached for a sheet of paper and wrote something down on it.

"I doubt that it will help you a lot," she said as she returned to her armchair and handed Hermione the sheet of paper. "I have no idea if it's still a valid address."

Hermione examined it closely. It read:

_Bertha Blythe/Anne Shirley_

_PO Box 13_

_393 Strand_

_Covent Garden_

_London WC2R 0LT_

Mrs Lambert was right; a PO Box would certainly not help.

"Perhaps if you asked your parents…" Mrs Lambert started.

"NO!" the force and chill in her voice surprised even Hermione. "You will not tell them a single word about this discussion," she added stiffly. "Because if you do," she paused to take a deep breath, "I will make sure to tell the story to the first cooper I see. I can't be the only child that left this place via illegal adoption," she paused again. "Aren't they considered as human trafficking?"

"Okay," Mrs Lambert sighed heavily. "I will not tell them," she paused and after a moment added. "But you definitely should."

It took her several days before she realised that Mrs Lambert was humouring her and that it was her and not Mrs Lambert that had something to lose if Hermione talked. But by that time she was up to her elbows in search for her biological mother.

TBC


	3. 28th June 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione investigates the lead she discovered at Mrs Lambert's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Tuesday until I would be able to determine how many chapters it would have in the end.
> 
> Also dedicated to all of my readers who stuck with me for so long. Thank You, I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism.
> 
> Beta read by Regnbuen

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter three: 29** **th** **June 1993**

_29_ _th_ _June 1993, Strand, London_

Next day found her in central London, waiting outside the post office, waiting for it to open. She left the house as early as she could without alarming her parents about her plans for the day. Not that they would have minded her trip to London by herself, after all she was going to be fourteen in September and had proved over the years that she was responsible both with her plans and her money.

Money wasn't going to be a problem. Aside of official pocket money she received from her parents, which as far as she managed to establish was generous sum amongst her Muggle peers. With her lack of interest in specific brands of clothing and make-up and her parents catering to the only whims she had, which was books, in the last couple of years she managed to save a nice sum she could do whatever she wanted with. Then there were leftovers of old presents given by her grandparents, aunts and uncles. All in all, that money was going to be useful now.

Finally, after what felt like ages the door was unlocked. She didn't approach the counter, opting instead to loiter around the place, seeking out the PO boxes. The office had a small selection of them, about thirty or so.

Finally, after a couple of minutes of internal debate, she settled herself at the small table in the corner with a crossword book and an excellent view of the rows of PO boxes. During the next couple of hours, several people approached the boxes. Some of them removed their mail, while few others, weirdly enough, placed parcels inside. However, since the post office workers didn't seem to be alarmed by it, she chose not to worry.

Number 13 however, hadn't been approached. In fact, no one had as much as looked at it for longer than it took for their gaze to slide past it.

Her quest to wait patiently for the owner of box 13 however, got interrupted once the shifts ended and a woman about her mother's age or even slightly older, approached her.

"Would you mind stepping outside with me?" she asked quietly.

"And if I would?" asked Hermione calmly.

"Then I would be forced to call the police and tell them that someone left an unattended child in here," the woman replied swiftly, still softly enough that only Hermione heard her.

"I'm fourteen," Hermione harrumphed.

"And I suffer from spontaneous bouts of hearing loss that come and go," the woman shrugged.

"You won't understand," sighed Hermione.

"Try me," the woman replied.

Half an hour later she was sitting in a small hole in the wall pub on the opposite side of the street with the woman that introduced herself as Josephine Turner, and picking at her broth while trying to explain her situation to her, while at the same time trying to keep illegality of her adoption away from the conversation.

"I'm afraid that your chosen way of finding her, or them, won't get you very far," Josephine said after she took a sip of her tea.

"Why not?" Hermione asked simply.

Josephine took another sip of tea and settled the cup on the table before she answered, "What I'm committing right now is a crime, but you seem honest and I do want to help you, my dear," she paused. "The thing about PO boxes is that there's never enough of them for the interested parties. That's why Royal Mail tries to avoid long term contracts with private customers without checking whether or not the box hasbeen disused. There are obviously ways to avoid that, like adding certain terms and conditions in the contract. This particular box has been arranged and paid upfront for fifteen years," she paused again. "Those fifteen years will have passed midnight tomorrow, which means that after closing time all of the correspondence inside will be destroyed."

"How much?" asked Hermione breathlessly.

"How much for maintaining it or how much of the correspondence has gathered inside?" asked Josephine pointedly.

"Either, both," said Hermione quickly.

"A lot," Josephine sighed. "And that's an answer to both questions. That's why I'm afraid that your chosen method of investigation won't lead you very far," she paused and reached for her tea. She took a sip before she continued, "The contract was signed by me and I was probably the last person who saw her in that post office."

"When was that?" asked Hermione.

"Ages ago," Josephine muttered. "I liked to think that she moved on, people like her often did. Especially back then."

"People like her," Hermione repeated with a frown.

"People like you," Josephine nodded. "You don't have to automatically deny it. I know what you are my dear."

"So you are one of us?" Hermione whispered.

"I always wanted to but sadly that particular gift passed me by, as it often happens in mixed marriages," Josephine sighed. "My sister on the other hand was gifted and seeing that I was officially regarded as a squib rather than Muggle I was allowed certain kind of liberties while we were growing up. That's why I have no trouble spotting gifted folk in the crowd," she paused. "Some of them stick out like a sore thumb in the crowd of not gifted, but some," she said and hummed. "And I often found that they come from a similar background like you or her or even my sister. They have this confidence about their ability to blend in with the crowd. That, she had in spades."

"Your sister?" asked Hermione pointedly.

"No, your mother," Josephine answered with a shake of her head. "Or her friend," she added after a moment. "Hard to tell and it's even harder for me to summon her face. I never managed to get a good look at her face to tell the colour of her eyes but her most remarkable feature to me was her hair," at that she mussed her own thin and straight greying hair. "She had a mane of dark curls that reached her waist, a look I always envied but was never able to achieve…" she shook her head. "I remember thinking though that she didn't look like Anne Shirley."

"Did she come here often?" asked Hermione pensively.

"Hard to tell," Josephine sighed. "There was a point of time when I didn't see her for a couple of days, and then there was a period of time when she came in twice on the same day for days on end. That's why her absence jarred. She just stopped coming in, there were no gradual shifts."

"You said that she could have moved away," Hermione said.

"She could have," Josephine agreed with a resigned sigh. "But that's just wishful thinking on my part. It was easier to believe that the disappearance of this kind of customer was because they didn't need to maintain this address anymore. Deep inside," she paused, "I knew that reasons for it were always sinister," she grimaced.

"Why do you think so?" asked Hermione pensively.

"Because that was what was happening to people back then, my dear," Josephine answered grimly. "From as far as the early seventies. It's hard to pinpoint the exact point in time. I was a new mother and Jody just started her second year of Healer training. She didn't want to worry me so she didn't talk about what was happening on the other side," she sighed. "I found out eventually when Aurors came around asking for her, asking when I saw her last. She wasn't the first one to disappear and as I found out over the years she wouldn't be the last one. Her body hadn't been found until nearly a decade later."

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered.

"So am I, my dear," Josephine said sadly. "Because I'm afraid that a similar fate has befallen the one you're searching. I just hope that when it did, she managed to take at least one of those bastards down with her, " she added with a glint in her eyes.

"That still leaves me without a name, her true name," mumbled Hermione. "Or a graveside to visit."

"Which is why I'm willing to abandon my work ethic and moral principles to help you," Josephine offered softly. "I will be very surprised if she would show up tomorrow to renew the contract. I will wait as expected until tomorrow to empty the box and destroy what's inside to prepare it for a new customer."

Hermione's hearth dropped into her stomach and she whispered, "What if I…" she paused searching for words. What exactly would she do to get to the contents of the box. In recent history her attempts at being stealthy had been foiled, first by Snape when she was supposed to pursue him and then by a bloody basilisk of all things. "You have no proof that she's dead, do you?" she asked finally. Josephine nodded at that. "So if she signed a new long-term contract…"

"She would have to pay for it first," Josephine grimaced. Then she gave a number that made Hermione's eyebrows climb almost to her hairline. "Assuming that you're planning to maintain it for the next fifteen years, obviously."

Fifteen years was a very long time, and the number Josephine gave felt astronomical. She could afford it though, but then was the fact that she was only at the very beginning of her search, and technically didn't have an income…

"What about five years?" she asked pensively.

The figure which Josephine gave her this time sounded less foreboding. It was certainly one that she could afford, and if she had to sign for it again in five years she would be able to put away money for it.

"You would obviously need a copy of the key, but I can get you one easily because people lose them all the time," Josephine said. "Would you be able to come back here," she motioned at the floor, "tomorrow around one o'clock?"

"Without a problem," Hermione answered.

TBC


	4. 30th June 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets her hands on the letters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Tuesday until I would be able to determine how many chapters it would have in the end. For now, it has twelve and I'm nearing the point where I would be able to start skipping time. After I would be able to estimate how many chapters I have left I will probably increase the number of chapters.
> 
> Also dedicated to all of my readers who stuck with me for so long. Thank You, I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism.
> 
> Beta read by Regnbuen

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter four: 30** **th** **June 1993**

_30_ _th_ _June 1993, Strand, London_

She was seated at a small table in the corner, sipping on a coke (which she wasn't allowed) and poking a small pile of chips (which she was allowed but due to her dietary issues not very willing to eat). At the very least the coke was settling her stomach and chips were the cheapest item on the menu. So for the sake of having a cover she continued picking at them and munching on one every once in a while.

Finally, Josephine appeared with a bag in her hand. She approached the counter and ordered something before she sat down in front of Hermione.

Hermione didn't feel particularly easy about just giving Josephine the money, because as sympathetic as she appeared to be, Josephine was still a stranger that could simply take her money and leave her with nothing. Luckily, she didn't, and as soon as Hermione passed a satchel with the necessary sum to her, Josephine pushed towards her the paperwork, both old and new.

"Short Street?" Hermione muttered as her eyes zeroed on the address that 'Anne Shirley' filled in. "Wouldn't she have another post office closer to her address?"

"If she actually lived in South Bank, yes," Josephine nodded. "Luckily for you I happen to know that that one isn't the only Short Street in London," she added. "From what I know it's a street that connects with the Alley. It's bigger than your usual back alley and therefore big enough to warrant its own name," she paused. "Supposedly it came from the owner of the buildings in that part, a Mr Short. No idea when he lived or what he was up to in order to get it named after himself," she paused again. "Point is, that such a street does exist and as far as I can tell it's located in the northernmost point of the alley itself."

"Have you ever been there?" asked Hermione curiously.

"The alley itself, yes," Josephine answered. "Mum used to bring us to Fortescue's during the summers for ice-cream and in winters for hot chocolate," she added with a small, fond smile. "I used to sneak to Flourish and Blotts with Jody afterwards. Her interests were always more academically inclined but I always adored books on history."

"Were you jealous?" asked Hermione pensively.

"Obviously," Josephine answered lightly. "I hazard a guess that every other child in my place would be But it was never malicious, you know. I just wished that we both could be part of this fascinating world on the fringes of which we always lived. Eventually I accepted that I would never be able to do what Jody and our mother could do and moved on with my life," she paused. "It certainly saved my life at some point," she added sadly. "My kind," she paused, "we never had it easy," she sighed. "We hardly have rights and we can only be a part of that world for as long as we have gifted relatives that are willing to do for us things we cannot do ourselves."

"And you don't have them anymore," said Hermione softly.

"Yes," Josephine sighed heavily.

"Would you want to come with me?" Hermione offered. "To search for Short Street?"

Josephine smiled at her sadly and shook her head before she answered, "Thank you, my dear, but no. It's like with smoking. It's very easy to start but very hard to stop. I have no doubt that it would be a great adventure, but in the long run it won't be worth the longing afterwards."

Hermione nodded because she got that. It was wonderful to use magic during the school year, and the arrival of summer, as much as she loved her family, felt bittersweet with the lack of magic. Which was even more unfair once she realised that out of all her fellow Gryffindors only she, Harry and Dean Thomas were the ones that were truly screwed over by the laws. Lavender didn't even try to hide the fact that her mother allowed her to use her great-grandmothers wand during the summer. Seamus tried to, but at one point he just slipped it out that his mother had him practice the shoelace tying charm during the summer. Neville, politely, stayed silent on the matter but she did hear him saying to Seamus that he practiced the spells from last year. She heard nothing from Parvati on the subject, but since the Patil twins, like Lavender came from a magical family, and their mothers (from what Hermione heard) were good friends, the odds that they had similar views on the subject were pretty high.

Maybe that was going to change in the future, she mused as she looked at the address. It also reminded her to fill out the contract.

She returned to Hampstead with lighter purse and heavier bag that was practically burning into her skin through the entire ride home. Because such was her luck, she barely managed to put down the bag in her room before her parents arrived home. Luckily for her however, they were invited to a bridge game afterwards, so she only had to endure dinner in their company before she could get to the letters. And hopefully tomorrow she could head to Diagon Alley.

As soon as she cleaned up after dinner, and the door closed behind her parents, she dashed to her room. With slightly shaking hands she picked up her bag and brought it to the windowsill seat. She sat down and pulled out the letters, trying her best to sort them in some sort of chronology. For about a little over a decade of not picking any of it, the amount was dishearteningly small. Almost immediately amongst the pile she recognised Grandma's handwriting, and from what she managed to gleam they appeared to be sent at odd intervals. About monthly in the year of 1980 and 1981 to gradually shift into once every quarter. The last three had a stamp from 21st September 1991, 9th January 1992 and 13th July 1992.

There were others too and they caught her attention because the name that was written on them didn't correspond with Anne Shirley, to whom Grandma was addressing her letters. Instead, they were addressed to a Ms Ramba Zahradníček, a Ms M. M. Zahradníček and just a M. Zahradníček respectively. Those three were initially sent to a post office on Poland Street and a PO box there, from which they were forwarded to Strand with handwritten annotations.

Two of them bore the name of Trenton & Durham, 112 Baker Street, London which she assumed was a law firm of some sort. When she opened the first of them, although chronologically it appeared to be the second, she saw that there was another envelope inside it that was addressed to the firm itself. The sender of that one was HMP Wakefield, which as far as her memory served her was a prison, which made her feel slightly uneasy about going through the mail.

Well, in for a knut, in for the entire Gringott vault, she decided after a moment of hesitation and opened the correspondence from Wakefield. It was disappointingly vague and consisted only of a notification of the passing of an inmate named Clemente, of a very vague surname. The only legible letters she managed to ascertain were 'Ve' then something that could have been an 'l' but could as well been a 't', an 'f' or even an 'r' from certain angles. Then came the legible 'as', then more illegible scribbles that could have been a 'q', a 'p', or a 'g' followed by take your pick at what could be an 'i', a 'u' or 'n' to end with the legible 'ez'. It could have been a Velasquez but it could be also anything else that started with 'Ve' and ended with 'ez'. Either way, Wakefield was informing Ms Zahradníček in the letter that Clemente passed away due to a pulmonary embolism, which was supposed to be one of the complications of his recently diagnosed lung cancer. Wakefield was also informing her that Clemente's body could be picked from, and then there came another scribble of something that could have been 'Smith' but could just as well be 'Shit' but since it was followed by '& Sons Funeral Home' Hermione leaned towards the former. The letter also contained nformation that if the body wasn't picked up within 30 days, then Clemente would be buried locally. Since the letter and postal stamps were dated with dates from August 1985, it was safe to assume that Clemente ended up being buried in one of the local cemeteries.

There was another letter from Trenton & Durham that she felt tempted to read through, but at the same time there was equally interesting letter addressed to Ms Ramba Zahradníček. She doubted that such a name existed, but after the legibility of the last letter, Ms Ramba could simply be a sloppily written Miranda.

This one came from Broadmoor Hospital. The contents of the letter, unlike the envelope was written on a typewriter and was therefore far more legible. Salutation of the letter was addressed to a 'Dear Ms Miranda Zahradnicek' and held similar contents to the one from Wakefield. The hospital was regrettably informing Ms Zahradníček of the passing of Immaculada Diaz. The only thing that varied from the previous letter was the cause of death and funeral home. It was posted in October of 1985.

As informative as both letters were, neither of them revealed who the deceased had been to Zahradníček. They could have been family members, but as far as she could tell, Zahradníček was an Eastern-European surname, but both deceased had Spanish first and last names.

The letters from Hermione's Grandma revealed yet another name. Although addressed to Anne Shirley on the envelopes, the first one started with 'Dear Martha'. It described Hermione's adventures in her grandparents backyard, which was mostly assisted toddling around it when she wasn't trying to flood it with water from the kiddie pool. It also contained three photographs that consisted of one toddling photograph; one with the empty and overturned kiddie pool on her head; and the last one was of her completely conked out on a blanket.

The second letter was similar in its contents. It contained photographs from Hermione's first birthday, seven of them. One of them was with her faithful bedmate of many childhood years, Mimi the teddy-bear, until fragility of his state relegated him to her desk. On the reverse side of that photograph Grandma scribbled: thank you, she absolutely adores it.

She glanced from the photograph at the desk and the teddy bear on it. Mimi, as usual, was propped against the lamp, his unseeing gaze fixed on the closed pamphlet about Diagon Alley.

She allowed her gaze to return to the other photographs, and even smiled at the one of her completely smeared with the frosting from the cake, as well as the one of her completely conked out in her high-chair. Then she found another photograph of her cuddled with Mimi.

She looked back at the bear. Mimi was her birthday present, the earliest one she remembered and which fondness of had lasted for years. He was also a present from a woman who knew her biological mother, and was emotionally invested enough to send her one. Who was she to Hermione? Why did she, for as long as she apparently could, maintain contact with her grandmother? What sort of friend does that? When her own friend, Hermione's biological mother herself, hadn't chosen to maintain even the tiniest bit of contact?

At least none that she was aware of.

The letters were gently placed down on the windowsill as she stood up. She walked towards the desk and picked Mimi up. The bear looked like it always did in the recent years. His stuffing clumped in odd places, an effect of dozens of washes and about half a dozen re-stuffing surgeries in which Hermione assisted. The fur around his nose and ears was worn so thin that bits of mesh underneath peeked out. He also had another slightly balding spot at the front of his neck, where his old cravat with a tiny music box inside used to hang until the box stopped working. There was also one on his butt next to a tag…

She turned the bear upside down to examine the tag. It was washed out and the letters on it were barely visible, but after turning on the desk lamp and sticking the bear underneath it, with minimal squinting she could read: crafted by The Beady Bunch.

With one hand still holding on to the bear, she reached for the Diagon Alley directory, and sure enough, under the B section she found The Beady Bunch. It was a small manufacture company located in the northernmost point of Diagon Alley, that mostly specialised in crafting stuffed menagerie per request. Their most known and top selling product was Benedict the Bear.

On a hunch placing the bear back on the desk in his usual pose, she reached for a shipping catalogue. She paged through the toy section and there he was, Benedict the Bear, aka Mimi. According to the description, his design hadn't been changed since the toy was launched in the fifties. The company promised careful crafting that would ensure the bear's longevity. For an additional price they also offered to enchant it, with up to seven enchantments that were separated into three age groups. They also offered an all-in-one option for those willing to pay a truly impressive amount of money for it.

Looking back over the years Mimi held true to the promised quality. She used to fall asleep with him in her bed far more easily than without, and to her memory she never had a nightmare while he was by her side. Over the years, he soothed many tears, and was the quiet confidant of her worries before she brought them to her parents. Even the gloomiest days felt bearable when she could curl herself up in her bed, or on the windowsill under a blanket with a book in her lap and Mimi by her side. She missed his presence at Hogwarts during her first year, especially in the first two months, but she opted out of taking him because she was twelve years old, and twelve year olds don't need to sleep with stuffed toys. That was what she believed, at least until she saw Lavender's menagerie that was spread out all over her bed and half of the nightstand.

She returned to the windowsill and the letters, on an impulse taking Mimi with her. By the time her parents returned home she had migrated to her bed, still with Mimi by her side and the letters safely tucked into her bag.

Sleep didn't come easily to her, but when it did, her dreams were filled with a shadowy figure of a woman with long, curly, dark hair and a teddy-bear dangling from her right hand as she steadily continued to walk through the forest without turning her face towards Hermione.


	5. 1st July 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets through the letters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: About 1800.
> 
> AN: A short chapter but a necessary one. As annoying as it probably seems day to day formatting suits this story the best and allows me and my beta to stay ahead enough that this story is posted on a schedule rather than being updated whenever we have something ready for public display. Next chapter belongs to the longer ones and takes Hermione out of the house to investigate the leads she discovered. It's a place where we really are getting into Secret Keeping territory, not that this one doesn't take a careful toe-dip into the area because it does. I'm sure that someone a long while from now will regret being so careless with their correspondence.
> 
> Also, I'm in chapter 14 and this story most likely will suppress 20 chapters mark but we will see. I'm greatly enjoying where I'm at the moment with it and the characters that accompany Hermione on her quest. One that greatly helps her you will meet in the next chapter and the other in chapter nine.
> 
> Updates Tuesday until I would be able to determine how many chapters it would have in the end.
> 
> Also dedicated to all of my readers who stuck with me for so long. Thank You, I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism.
> 
> Beta read by Regnbuen

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter five: 1** **st** **July 1993**

 _1_ _st_ _July 1993, 34 Willoughby Road, Hampstead, London._

She woke up late enough to hear the soft click of the front door closing, a sound which was soon followed by a car engine being turned on. It took her a couple of minutes to shake off grogginess of sleep enough to realise what those sounds meant. She overslept, and quite massively at that, even though she went to bed at quite an early hour. But then again, she didn't manage to fall asleep for what felt like ages.

She made her way into the bathroom and loitered under the shower spray until the cold water that started to fall eventually chased her out of it. Bypassing her usual hair care routines because there really was no point for them anymore. They were meant for her mother's hair type, which definitely wasn't Hermione own, not anymore, not ever.

She wandered into the kitchen to make herself a cup of something warm. Tea was her original thought, but as groggy as she still felt, a cup of coffee seemed like a better idea. In the kitchen, on one of the counters, stood a plate of waffles and a jar of homemade strawberry jam. Dad's indulgent breakfast after an evening of drinking, not that he drank a lot or often, but when he overindulged on alcohol he liked to shove his dentist principles back into the closet the next day. The hypocrite.

As in fact was Mum, with her insistence that she was still growing and that her front teeth didn't need any fixing until she was an adult. Never mind that Hermione herself found a healer who offered to fix them without charging her as long as her parents signed the consent form. Which neither wanted to do.

Bloody hypocrites, liars and… well, criminals was a very harsh word, but also a true one. As well-meaning as they were with their motives, her adoption was illegal and even the most inept prosecutor could turn it into a case of kidnapping, if not human trafficking.

Her only hope for finding the truth was a woman that hadn't collected the letters that were sent to her since the summer of 1980. She could have moved on without leaving a forwarding address, or she could be dead or badly handicapped.

But she cared, she cared enough to pick up the letters that without a doubt arrived between September of 1979 and the last days of July 1980. Cared enough to maintain contact with Hermione's Grandma, enough to get photographs of her, enough to send her a pretty pricy gift for her birthday.

Who was she to Hermione that she cared so much? Why did she stop?

The waffles ended in the trash untouched. Instead she made herself a bland scrambled egg, some toast and a cup of over sweetened coffee.

She returned to the letters after breakfast and finished reading the ones that Grandma had sent. The first of the last three brought her nearly to tears with Grandma's outright invitation to visit them while Hermione was around. She simply begged 'Martha' to come around, to talk with Hermione about Hogwarts, about the magical world. The second one expressed hopes that 'Martha' would have a chance to meet a grown up Hermione in person, and implored her to do so if she hadn't already. The third one was the saddest, it was probably written from the hospital, and in the same breath, Grandma was berating 'Martha' for not visiting Hermione and begging her to come. Hermione needed her, that was what Grandma had written.

_Martha,_

_She needs you, now I think more than she ever needed you since the day your hands helped to bring her into this world. My daughter and son-in-law mean well and they will always continue to look after her the best to their abilities. But as loving and well-meaning as they are, she needs family that understands her world. She needs someone who will be able to tell what hides in her unfinished sentences. Someone who better than that lazy bunch of fucks she has for supposed guardians in that school would look after her and her best interests. She needs an angel under whose wings she could find comfort and protection and whose fury would be feared amongst those that mean her harm. She needs you and with that in mind I release you from any vows you had made to others: your sister; my daughter; my son-in-law. I beg you to be who you were always supposed to be, who you would have been if your sister held your opinions in greater value. Be her aunt, be her friend, her confidant and her protector._

_My days on this world are numbered and once the final one will come I will no longer be able to serve as your representative in her life. I beg you to step into my shoes for her, for they were yours from the very beginning. Remember that to the living we owe respect, but to the dead we owe only the truth. You owe me the truth for our little girl._

_Always your friend,_

_Monique Brooks_

By the time she read Grandma's signature she was in tears, sobbing quietly into the hand that flew to her mouth the moment she read who the witch of many names was to her.

She had an aunt. She had many aunts but there was the only one that mattered, the one that attempted to maintain contact against specific wishes of her own sister and Hermione's new parents. She was the one who bought a ridiculously pricy gift that Hermione cherished through her childhood years.

She was also missing. From Hermione's life most certainly but also from places where she once was and relied on. For thirteen years at the very least, and as Josephine Turner warned her, it was highly likely that she could be dead. Hermione found her, only to lose her again without ever meeting her.

But she didn't exactly find her, did she? All she found was a list of her PO boxes and her aliases. She wasn't even sure if the names she had given to her attorneys were real. Anne Shirley most certainly wasn't, while Martha and Miranda could have been.

She had two other letters. One of them like the former, had been sent to her from Trenton & Durham. The postmark on it dated it for mid-July 1985 and that was the first letter she reached for. Once again she found an envelope from Wakefield and along with it a short note from Mr Trenton. It explained that the letter was sent to them per request of what Mr Trenton called 'that man' and in the same breath he expressed his regret that the law obliged him to forward it, and encouraged Ms Zahradníček to destroy it without reading.

Hermione opened it with an uneasy feeling in her stomach. The uneasiness quickly turned into frustration when she realised that the letter was written in Spanish and that the only thing she could understand was a salutation that was addressed to 'Querida Mireia'.

She put it away and reached for another letter addressed to the post office on Poland Street. The postmark was for London and it was dated for January 1982. Instead of a name it only had the initials 'M. V.' scribbled on them. She opened it and started reading.

_Sister Mine,_

_I trust that this letter will find you and my brother in good health. Hopefully also in company of what we once discussed. I know that this letter must be quite of a shock to you even though I'm certain that you're the only one aware that the carcass of your dearly and too early departed brother is not exactly his own._

_I sincerely apologise for everything I put you through, both of you, in the last couple of years. I wish that I could say that I will make it up to you. Unfortunately I will no longer be able to do more than what I already had done._

_I survived the ordeal but at the price of something I have problems coming to terms with. I will probably continue to have them for the rest of my life. At the same time it's not too high a price for me if it means that I will get to see my sister and my brother safe from the darkness that almost swallowed me._

_I miss you both terribly. I'm in good hands for the moment and it seems that I will remain there. They're good people, you would have loved them, both of you would. I'm most certainly starting to care for them more than I ever cared for our own parents. They're so very forgiving and understanding that once again I find myself out of my depths. I have no idea what to do with it, other than to continue to repay it to the best of my abilities._

_But I need you, sister mine. I need your wisdom and your knowledge again. I need to adapt to a world that's not my own, had never been my own but from now on has to be. They're helping but I need someone who will help me find my limits._

_I need you, both of you to tell me what happened while I've been gone. I also need to tell you what needs to be done to make both of worlds safer for you and my nephew and nieces._

_I find myself uneasy about writing down my new address so until I will hear from you again this will have to do:_

_12 PO Box, Poland Street, London_

_It will be checked every day and as soon as I will receive a reply from you, I will give you the address._

_Always yours,_

_Brother_

It was a touching letter but frustratingly vague in its nature. Unlike the others it hadn't given her anything more than her aunt's initials, at the very least the initials which the man that called her his sister had known. He called her sister, but the mention of a nephew and nieces could also mean that she was his sister-in-law.

It also explained why she disappeared and was no longer a part of Hermione's life. She definitely had children of her own, several most likely as the man believed and she would have distanced herself from an unofficial niece because of them.

Except if that was true would she still have bothered to pick up her mail and reply to Hermione's Grandma with a simple 'fuck off' or a politely versed version of thereof. But she didn't, she just stopped picking up her mail.

At least Hermione still had her Diagon Alley address and the bear she got from her. And too little time to make the trip to Diagon Alley today before her parents would return home.

TBC


	6. 2nd July 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione heads to Diagon Alley to search for her Aunt and has a very enlightening conversation with a shopkeeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** Finally a long chapter, as the subject of conversation required getting more deeper into Secrets & Keepers territory (finally!) because this story is a part of Secrets & Keepers universe not just because I like that title. What happens here doesn't affect Collision Course but will affect Entropy (and I will go back to Collision Course to put the same warning there). I'm blitzing ahead, and so does my beta, who is a wonder to work with and after the disaster of Collision Course betas a gift from gods, also my cerebral twin or something because we agree on everything. At the moment I'm at the start of chapter 16 and I can say that we're going to close this story under 24 chapters, most likely 20 or 21 if not less, it all depends how much France will take me for which we're going to leave in chapter 17.
> 
> **This story updates on Tuesday but will have a surprise update this Thursday as chapter 7 is really tiny but necessary both to character building and future plot. Chapter 8 will be posted on a normal schedule, next Tuesday and will be... I found it very entertaining to write**
> 
> Also dedicated to all of my readers who stuck with me for so long. Thank You, I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism.
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen**

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter six: 2** **nd** **July 1993**

_2_ _nd_ _July 1993, Diagon Alley, London_

She woke up early enough to eat breakfast with her parents, engaging in enough of small talk about the plans for her day to keep her parents satisfied. She told them that she was planning to work on summer essays for Charms. Technically she didn't even lie, she intend to spend some time on turning the notes she managed to make while she was still at Hogwarts into a first draft, but she planned to do so in the late afternoon.

She gave her parents about half an hour after leaving the house before she too vacated the premises. She quickly stuffed her purse, wand and a small folding umbrella into her bag. On an impulse she grabbed Mimi and put him inside as well. What for, she wasn't certain. Maybe some part of her wanted to have him as a lucky charm, or maybe somewhere deep inside she hoped that he would help her find something she could use.

When she reached Diagon Alley she immediately headed to Gringotts to exchange a small portion of the money she had on her into galleons. The goblin teller that did so appeared to be giving her the stinky eye but said nothing about the lack of adults accompanying her. Maybe he had a bad day or maybe he always looked like that. She didn't really care.

With her galleon satchel filled she headed north without a haste, marvelling at the colourful displays in the windows. In all her previous visits to Diagon Alley she had never been alone, and with her parents happy to stick to the part of the alley that was located between the Leaky Cauldron and Gringotts, she had never wandered past three shops north of Gringotts.

The further she got from Gringotts the less flashy the displays in the surrounding shops became, giving way to steady colours. The businesses themselves also changed into: second hand bookshops, at least three of them; two antique shops; two grocery stores; a butcher; a tiny pet-shop that only catered to bird owners apparently; a tiny apothecary; two barbers; two or three bakeries, one of which was closed for renovation.

Here and there back alleys that reached into the alley extended into small streets that were hardly bigger than pathways. Some of them were only big enough for one or two buildings aside of the one that was located on Diagon Alley. Some simply had directory that pointed that such a number and a half or a three quarter were located in the back alley. Some had their own names, like Kitty Corner or Tail's End.

Finally she found herself before the window display of The Beady Bunch, on the right side of which was a sign that pointed towards Short Street. She looked right at the street that by the standards of the ones she had seen certainly wasn't as short as it claimed to be, curving slightly to the left by its end. Even without straining her eyes she could see the house she was looking for that proudly displayed its shiny number 12. It appeared suspiciously small to warrant an 'm' flat which she found on the contract with Strand's post office. From where she stood it couldn't have more than seven, maybe eight flats inside it, not thirteen as the 'm' in the address suggested.

But the display of The Beady Bunch lured her as much as the address had. It certainly wouldn't hurt to ask first if they could recognise the bear and the person that purchased it.

She turned the doorknob and gingerly stepped inside. Her arrival was announced by the chime of a bell over her head but she found no one at the counter. The shop was absurdly tiny. Its counter was bracketed from both sides by four display cases that showed a variety of stuffed animals. One of the displays showed only teddy-bears in varying sizes from a tiny little fellow that was no bigger than her thumb to a big one that was the size of an average large big dog. Another display case was solely dedicated to magical creatures. The two others held a menagerie she was more familiar with. And the sign behind the counter promised that all of the merchandise could be commissioned in desired size for an additional fee.

"Hello?" she called out.

"Good morning," came the reply from behind a curtain that obstructed the view into what she assumed was the workshop. "I'll be with you shortly, I just need to put a finishing touch on this."

About a minute later the curtain swung open and a tiny woman with short, curly, greying blonde hair stepped towards the counter.

"How can I help you today?" she asked Hermione with a smile.

"I'm…" Hermione started and stopped.

She knew what she wanted but it didn't really seem polite to just ask the woman for her records right away. At the same time she wasn't really going to purchase anything. She had no one to gift with stuffed toys. Sure Harry's birthday was coming up and as tempting as a small stuffed snowy owl looked she knew that Harry would have been more pleased with something more suited to a teenage boy, like perhaps the Broomstick Servicing Kit she saw when she passed by Quality Quidditch Supplies. But maybe it would make a nice addition to a Christmas present. And because Ron would laugh at Harry otherwise then maybe she should get him a stuffed rat to keep Scabbers company. Maybe she should even get a stuffed toad for Neville, just because she could.

She requested all three and when prompted she tried her best to describe them to the woman. She denied any enchantments only to backtrack and asked the woman about the most usual enchantments she would have used for teenage boys.

"Three of them?" asked the woman curiously. "My, my aren't you starting young?" she smirked.

"They're my friends," Hermione objected.

"The lady does protest a little too fast," the woman smiled. "Don't worry, my dear, I was like that too. Never managed to get along with my dorm-mates. Judgemental cows they all were," she paused and then added, "come to think of it, some of them still are."

Hermione snorted and muttered more to herself than to the woman, "So there's no hope."

"I'm afraid not," the woman sighed with exasperation. "One can't make a very good house out of straw and even when one endeavours to do so one needs clay and shit to keep it together."

Hermione snorted again.

"About the enchantments," the woman changed the subject. "A variation of cheering charm is something that's most often requested. As are nightmare catchers and chastity spells."

"I'm their friend, not their mother," Hermione replied.

"Oh, you would be surprised with the stuff mothers request," the woman chirped. "Had a customer once, way back in the sixties that purchased a rat for her baby son that was supposed to whisper 'you will be a Minister of Magic'."

"Did it work?" asked Hermione pensively trying to reconcile the image of a little Cornelius Fudge with his stuffed rat.

"No," the woman deadpanned. "I tried my best but I'm not a miracle worker," she added. "Would you like to wait or do you need it on a particular date?"

Hermione hesitated. She did have other plans but she also hoped to find something more about her aunt, at the very least her real name. But if she spend too much time here then she would have less time to ask about her at the address she had given.

The woman saw her hesitation and raised the moving part of the counter with a soft smile and she said, "Come in then. I will make us a cup of tea."

Hermione followed her into the workshop space that was mostly filled with floor to ceiling chests of drawers. The only place that was devoid of it was two armchairs by the fireplace and a huge desk by the window.

"Settle down," the woman motioned towards the armchairs. "I will prepare tea and the bases for the pets."

A couple of minutes later, after placing a tray with tea on the small table between two armchairs the woman slipped into the other armchair. Immediately she poured both of them a cup and motioned at the milk pot and sugar bowl.

"Doctor it to your liking, my dear," she said. "I'm not very big on ceremonies as you've noticed."

As she spoke her hands started their work on forming the mesh into shapes. She wasn't using a wand or any spells but the material just twisted itself to her liking.

"That's amazing," Hermione whispered.

"Oh, this?" the woman asked. "Years of experience, my dear. I've been doing it for forty-four years for a living, and a couple more just as a past time. I have no memory of a shape and size that I hadn't done twice already."

"It's still amazing," Hermione repeated.

"It is," the woman agreed and paused for long enough to take a sip of her tea. "Magic is a gift that keeps on giving. That's why I've chosen this particular line of work. I love doing it and it keeps me financially stable."

"Are you doing it all on your own?" Hermione asked as she reached for her cup.

"Used not to, but my poor Terrence passed away last year. Dragon pox, and at his age," she paused. "I've been expecting it since the healers diagnosed it. One would think that in this current day and age they would be able to come up with something that would stop people from catching it in the first place," she paused again. "But at least we have the cure that helps in most cases so we need to count our blessings."

"No one ever tried vaccination?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Pray tell?" the woman asked.

Which was how Hermione spent next couple of minutes at explaining what vaccination was and how it came to be.

"Fascinating," the woman whispered in awe. "Tell you what, whoever will come up with a vaccine for dragon pox will be the universal hero of the wizarding world. Many good people had been lost to that bloody disease, some of them way too early, some of them late but they could have lived longer to see their grandchildren growing up."

"But it doesn't kill all people that suffer from it," Hermione said.

"It does not but the mortality rate is still too high to treat it lightly," the woman answered. "Children of learning age, you know those that start to learn how to read and write get through it the easiest. Same with teenagers from what I know. Young adults too unless they happen to be pregnant at the time, women I mean. Such cases always end in death of the child and more often than not in death of the mother too," she paused and sighed. "That's how I lost my firstborn son. Caught that bloody thing in the last trimester. I nearly passed through the veil but my healers were determined to keep me tethered to life through the worst of it. They couldn't have saved my little Ben though," she sighed. "The disease does something deadly to the lungs of the babies, you see. He was a stillbirth but I heard of babies that survived birth only to die in agony in a couple days after the birth. As much as it pains me my poor little boy didn't suffer more."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Hermione whispered.

"So am I," the woman smiled sadly. "I like to imagine that he would have grown up to a strapping young man, smart and hardworking like his parents. His brother most certainly is, bless him."

"Does it get easier?" asked Hermione softly. "The loss of a child?"

She had no idea why she asked that. It was after all a very private thing and she could be informed rather sternly that it wasn't really her business.

"Oh, honey," the woman sighed in reply. "It never does," she added. "But the periods of time when you miss them stretch out as time passes. There's always work to do, children to take care of, actual breathing children," she paused. "Believe it or not back in the day mind-healers prescribed to grieving parents getting themselves another child," she paused and snorted. "Bloody ridiculous that's what it is, muppets the lots of them," she paused again to reach for her cup of tea and took a sip. "But the sense of loss never fully goes away, it's right there, in the back of your head, waiting to creep up on you when you last expect it."

I wonder if it's the same for adoption, Hermione pondered as she looked at her cup of tea. Because in a way it was a loss of a child, one that her biological mother had chosen. But why? Why after carrying her for nine, ten months did she decide, against her sister's wishes, that giving up her child was the right thing to do?

"Aren't you too young to lose a child?" the woman asked gently.

Hermione looked up at her.

Something in her face must have betrayed her inner turmoil because the woman said, "No, it's not your child," she paused. "You are the lost child. Oh dear."

"It's that easy to tell?" sighed Hermione.

"As easy as spotting the nose on your face," the woman answered swiftly. "To me at the very least," she added after a moment. "I'm old, not as ancient as some of us can get if they live a sheltered life, but I spent most of my life observing people and their reactions. I've seen many people walk through these doors," she motioned towards the front of the shop. "Some came here with what they wanted in mind. Some loitered every day for extended periods of time until they made up their minds. Some however just kept coming and never buying anything. Given enough time everyone opens up," she paused. "The need to share our burdens is in our nature. Especially when people we're surrounded with appear to or simply don't understand our loss."

"My mother gave me up for adoption," Hermione whispered. "My father was unknown and given my age I'm not sure if I want to know him. But her," she paused. "And my aunt, her sister, I want to find them."

"And obviously given into an old wizarding tradition of unattached women she had chosen to give you up to a Muggle couple of some wealth," the woman said.

"Does it happen often?" Hermione asked with a grimace.

"More often than you think, especially with pure-blood families," the woman replied. "Most often those children are an effect of summer dalliances of naïve young women that got themselves seduced by gigolos of wizarding or Muggle nature," she paused. "Some families endeavour to solve that problem by marrying the girl to the culprit. Some send them away. Some throw them out of the family altogether until she herself will solve the problem."

"Does that happen often?" Hermione echoed her earlier question.

"Not really," the woman sighed. "Most families, even the strictest of them still regard magical children as a gift. But given that they're an effect of what shamed the family they don't advertise their existence. Abortion is legal in the wizarding world but most young women from conservative backgrounds, instead of getting rid of the child altogether either choose to raise them themselves or give them up. Some choose childless relatives or friends of the family. Some, like your mother most likely, make arrangements with childless Muggle couples of some wealth. Very few of them give them up to orphanages."

"How often are those things legal?" asked Hermione pensively.

"If they're done in the wizarding world…" the woman started. "More often than not they bear some form of legality, such as official transference of parenting rights from one person to another. If it happens in pure-blood families, both families have to sign on it. A friend of mine, and friend is a word I'm using loosely seeing that we used to help the same charities and she sometimes came around for tea but nothing more, raised the only son of her too early departed son and daughter-in-law because the woman had chosen to have nothing to do with the boy. She bemoaned her parentage, even if both she and her husband initially accepted her as their son's wife. Luckily for them, the head of her family was at the moment benevolent enough to allow them to raise the boy rather than take him into his family."

"And when the children are raised Muggle?" Hermione asked.

"Unless the mother chooses to participate in the child's life, as some sort of godmother, they rarely find out the truth. Unless they unfortunately fall in love with their magical half-siblings," she replied. "What do you know?" she asked after a moment.

Hermione hesitated but after a moment pulled out Mimi out of her bag and showed him to the woman.

"He was a gift for my first birthday, from my aunt," she explained. "You don't happen to have records of purchases that have been made, do you?"

The woman stopped working on the mesh of an owl and reached for Mimi as she said, "As a matter of fact, I do, my dear. And you really should have opened with that when you came in."

"I didn't want to be rude," Hermione explained. "I was worried that it would sound stupid."

"There is no such things as stupid questions, just unsatisfactory answers and idiots who cannot provide satisfactory ones," the woman replied as she examined the bear from all angles. "Luckily for you I can help you because this particular Ben came straight from my shop rather than from the shops we partner with. They get generic ones. But this one," she paused and frowned. "Enchantments are my own if quite old because I haven't been using that variation of the spell since early seventies. But this…" she paused and smiled. "Oh, you clever thing, you very clever thing," she beamed. "Your auntie was a genius, my dear," she added in genuine mirth. "See this?"

Still holding the bear she offered him to Hermione. On his back glowing faintly were a couple of runes.

"This one," the woman pointed with her pinkie at one of the runes, "is a cloaking spell that hides magic done within certain radius of it. It's barely holding itself together but it still works. This one," she pointed at a different rune with her middle finger, "is a protective rune that anchors about three shielding spells. She had to pour a lot of her own magic into ensuring that it won't fail. Then we have the variation of a Confundus, aimed at those that mean harm to you and your family."

"Wow," Hermione whispered. "She.." she started.

Cared this much was what she planned to say but the words got stuck in her throat.

"Now," the woman said as she turned the bear around. "Who bought you Mr B?" she said at loud as she turned the bear upside down and examined his paws.

She frowned, shook the bear slightly and stared at his paws for a couple of minutes before she summoned a giant book. Hermione leaned closer and as the pages of it were turning before her eyes she managed to glimpse that it was some kind of a ledger. Finally the book stopped on the page the woman wanted it to and the record under the number 1313 started glowing with soft golden hue.

"31st October 1959. One Benedict the Bear," the woman read. "Standard sized. Deluxe enchantments plus godparent's rite. Alphard Black. Picked on 4th November 1959 with a nametag. Requested name added: Sirius."

Sirius didn't sound like a particularly female name but in three years of contact with wizarding world she learned not to judge people by their names. But if she had to take a stab in the dark and guess if Sirius was male or female name she would have said that it was a male name.

"Aren't you one hell of a blast from the past, Mister B," the woman muttered after a couple of minutes of silence. "But how did you find your way from his hands to hers, I wonder," she added. "Charity maybe, or a second hand shop. Wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last time," she paused again and hummed.

Hermione sighed heavily. Of course, things couldn't have been that easy, for once. She still got something though. She only wished that she had her aunt's name.

"Or not," the woman muttered. "I see no signs of marking and those idiots hardly ever bother to remove it just like their buyers hardly bother to ensure that they are removed," she paused again. "How did you made your way from that disgrace of humanity to that sweet lamb Benny?" she sighed. "Was she a pretty thing that turned his head when he was a boy? Or did he like many boys had lost you somewhere and she picked you up."

Hermione waited, through hums and mutters accompanied by lesser and heavier sighs.

"What about Sirius Black though?" she asked suddenly, surprising herself slightly.

"What about him?" the woman asked quickly. "His magic isn't there," she shook the bear slightly. "Hers, yes. Mine too. As is Alphard's although it's very weak."

"How can you be sure about?" asked Hermione curiously.

The woman sighed heavily and turned the bear belly up before she poked it right in the middle of its chest. The fur in the place she touched started softly glowing in a silvery blue hue.

"See this?" she asked. "This is a physical manifestation of a godparent's rite. A spell I no longer use, and by the seventies had been using very rarely," she added. "Strictly speaking it's not dark arts, but it's blood magic so it isn't widely regarded as light magic either. I stopped using it completely by the early eighties and since then I always refused to act as a binder. If someone wishes to do it for their godchildren then they can go and find themselves a binder."

"Why not?" asked Hermione.

The woman grimaced before she said, "First you need to understand the significance of godparents in wizarding world. The whole institution is a relic of the times when people were dropping like flies without a very good reason and sometimes with a very good one," she paused for a moment. "It wasn't always called that, but at some point the word godparent became less inconspicuous than in loco parentis that had been used most often. But that was the role they were supposed to serve. Hence the reason why most often that role went to family members or very good family friends."

"Just like in the Muggle world," said Hermione.

"But do godparents in the Muggle world hold any legal rights?" the woman asked.

"They do in the wizarding world, don't they?" asked Hermione pensively.

"Naturally," the woman sighed. "I don't know how Muggles name their children in their version of the ceremony, but in the wizarding world the naming ritual is blood based."

"You mean rather than with water children are…" Hermione started.

"Marked with blood of the godparent, yes," the woman finished. "Hence the reason why the act of naming the child befalls on them. Which is fine if everybody agrees on the name, or at the very least some sort of compromise has been reached on the subject. But if they haven't…" she grimaced. "I could tell you hundreds of stories about how wrong that can get. In the mildest of cases it can be a simple switch between say a plebeian, Muggle sounding, William to a respectably wizarding sounding Bilius if one is foolish enough to ask their very conservative aunt to fill that role instead of an open-minded friend," she paused for a moment. "Though you really have to be an idiot to make the same mistake twice."

"But what does it mean for the child legally?" asked Hermione.

"That the name their godparent or godparents has chosen will be the one they will carry until they are able to change it legally upon reaching adulthood. That's why some families omit that tradition and rather than naming godparents, parents themselves fill in that role during the ritual…."

"Isn't that too much of a hassle?" asked Hermione sceptically. "It's just a name."

"It's never just a name, my dear," the woman shook her head. "Not in the wizarding world."

"Is that why everybody freaks out over Voldemort?" Hermione grimaced.

"Kindly refrain from speaking his name," the woman chastised her.

"I hardly ever do," Hermione muttered.

"That wanker used to have a perfectly mundane human name that had no power whatsoever," the woman snorted. "Not even to him. If you don't want to spend the rest of your life You-Know-Whoing and dark lording use the name he had been given by his wretched parents, may they both rot in hell through eternity with their wretched offspring," she said with a huff. "Tom Riddle was the name I knew him under and Tom Riddle he will always remain to me."

"You knew him?" Hermione whispered.

"Every Hogwarts student of my generation knew Tom Riddle and about a quarter of them had a dubious honour of sharing Slytherin house with him," the woman replied stiffly. "Some of them even had a more dubious honour of sharing the same year with him."

"Were you one of them?" Hermione asked.

"Luckily for me I was two years ahead of him and I came from a family that due to my uncle's idiocy had fallen out of favour with the wizarding folk by the time I came to Hogwarts. I was a Slytherin and I came from a pure-blood family but I was also a girl and not a part of the main line. Not that the main line was as rich as the one's that Riddle courted. Not that the money was what he was really after," she said grimly.

"What was he after?" Hermione whispered.

"Power and knowledge," the witch sighed. "From the dawn of civilisation those that had some kind of knowledge had power over those that didn't. That power in turn gave them money which in turn granted them access to more knowledge and therefore more power and on and on and on," she paused.

"Is that the reason why pure-bloods are so against Muggleborns?" Hermione asked pensively.

"One amongst many," the woman confirmed. "The sorest point of conflict lies within their ancestry."

"Muggleborns don't have wizarding ancestry," Hermione said. "That's the exact definition of the term."

"And the term itself is wrong," the woman shrugged. "Magic is a gift but many people tend to forget that it's also a trait. Like freckles or curly hair. Sometimes it's passed from parents to children but sometimes it isn't, like in some Muggle and wizarding marriages. That's why at odd intervals the Ministry tried their best to discourage them by passing very restricting laws that practically rendered wizardfolk who had chosen their partners from Muggles into pretty much wand-carrying squibs. Do you…"

"A witch or wizard of magical heritage but with no magic," Hermione interjected. "But how could they do that to their people?"

"By thinking about their people," the woman snorted. "The subject is very murky since no one ever truly researched the issue because no one really likes to talk about their non-magical relatives. One way or another squibs happen to wizarding families, even the ones most paranoid about maintaining continuation of their magical bloodline. Simply because magic is a trait that's passed from parents to children. Sometimes it just occurs and a child is born without magic. In certain cases with a very limited use of it. It's not a good thing or a bad thing, it's just a thing that happens sometimes. Maybe something in the way their parents blood fused itself locked their magical abilities away. Nobody really knows because the subject still remains a very sore point," the woman paused to take a deeper breath.

"Muggles call it genes," Hermione sized the opportunity to explain what she knew on the subject.

"Are their responsible for traits?" the woman asked curiously.

Hermione nodded.

"Genes it is then," the woman agreed. "Maybe something in the way they connect creates a block to magical abilities or maybe not. Like I said, it's not a thoroughly researched issue. It happens in families that have generations upon generations of magical ancestry. But it's far more likely to happen if one only has one magical parent to fall back on. Again, because it was never thoroughly researched the actual odds may be different. Sometimes only one in four children from such union end up being magical, sometimes only one ends up being a squib, in other cases the number might be even or you can have four in four for either."

Hermione nodded again.

"A squib to a magical family, a pure-blood family that is, more often than not is nothing to be proud about. Some families keep them on the fringes of the wizarding world. Some abandon them the moment it becomes evident that the child has no magic whatsoever. Sometimes it happens right after birth, sometimes later on. Some simply raise them Muggle. It all depends on the family," the woman continued. "But there's one thing that's universal. Hardly anyone keeps records of what happens to them after they grow up and choose to leave the wizarding world for good, and if they do they choose not to advertise it."

"So the odds are pretty high that any given Muggleborn could be distantly related to a pure-blood family," Hermione nodded. "Then where does the hostility come from?"

"We're back to the subject of knowledge, power and fortune," the woman gave her a tight smile. "Most often people that have all three don't like to share it. And the idea of sharing your knowledge, your power, your fortune with someone who is only distantly related to you and most often a complete cultural moron by the time you received basic wizarding education can for many families be preposterous. Hence avoiding the issue altogether until it simply cannot be avoided due to unfortunate circumstances."

"But that means that Muggleborns, actual Muggleborns…" Hermione started.

"… are exceedingly rare," the woman finished with a nod. "Case in point," she motioned at Hermione. "Although your ancestry baffles me. Sometimes it's far easier to tell. I can spot a Weasley or a Prewett from a mile away. Same thing with the Pinks, the Browns and the Blacks. They have pretty similar features and they hardly deviate from picking their significant others from opposite beauty type. Sure every now and then one can get a black-haired Prewett or a fair-haired Black or Brown."

"The wizards aren't very original with their surnames," Hermione muttered.

"A relict of times when people hardly had surnames and an occupational hazard of not being an occupational hazard," the woman snorted softly. "Colour schemes in particular. Some of them took great pride in that."

"They took pride in not being an occupational hazard?" Hermione asked sceptically.

"Claimed that it made them unique, most of them," the woman nodded.

"They're like the most popular names in the Muggle world," Hermione muttered. "Black, Brown, Green, Grey and White in most particular."

"I know," the woman chuckled. "My maternal grandmother was a French Malfoy that conned her father into believing that she was marrying a young, talented and hardworking Mr Green from a respectable pure-blood family. It wasn't until after the wedding for which the entire Green family had failed to show up and for which he intended to scold them personally before it even occurred to him that he could have been duped. But by then my grandmother was happily married and already in the family way. Luckily for them both, her husband proved to be as talented and as hardworking as she introduced him to be," she paused and sighed. "When I met my Terrence and found out the origins of his name I took the leaf out of Grandma Malfoy's book and presented him as a distant cousin of the Whites. What I had failed to mention to my Pa was that his mother had been a witch White that ran away with a Muggleborn Mr White and that my poor Terrence was a half-blood not the pureblood my Pa was expecting him to be. Merlin, was he livid."

"Why would you risk that?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Because I was in love with a kind, hardworking man that worshiped the ground I walked on," the woman replied. "My father-in-law was a kind, hardworking man too, even though my mother-in-law proved to be a bit of a shrew. Took her a couple of decades to truly forgive Terry for marrying a Fawley, and only on her deathbed did she finally forgive me for adding her son's surname to my own. No idea why it bothered her, it wasn't as if I insisted on giving our children our joined surnames. I just didn't want my shop to be referred as the shop of the other Ellie White. For some reason we were both called Ellie even though my name was Eleanor and hers was Elisheba," she explained and paused. "And since we're on the subject of names, what's yours?"

"Hermione," Hermione answered. "Hermione Granger."

The woman hummed softly before she said, "Well the only Granger I can think of is Dagworth but I know that he added it only upon building his fortune to distinguish his family and his business from the other Dagworths. He started off as a beverage brewer but after building his fortune he moved into potions. Hasn't produced anything noteworthy aside of founding The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. Hector was his name, Greek like Hermione," she paused for a moment. "Didn't have a daughter of that name though. In fact he didn't have a daughter at all but…" she paused again. "Hermione as a name though had gained quite the following towards the end of the seventeenth century due to Shakespeare's works."

Hermione nodded and sighed, "I know."

"What you might not know was that Mr Shakespeare himself was a squib, and that his works were quite popular amongst the wizarding folk even after, the Statue of Secrecy was instituted. They fell out of favour with the wizarding public eventually in favour of lesser works produced by wizards. But every now and again these days the National Theatre of Wizarding Britain coughs up a season or two of his works. That however depends on who heads it at the time," the woman, Mrs Fawley-White explained.

"So, is Hermione a wizarding name or not?" asked Hermione curiously.

"It is," Mrs Fawley-White confirmed. "Not a very popular one but one that you can find in pureblood families that claim their Ancient Greek ancestry. Most notable of them are the Greengrasses along with the Greens. They like to underline that they are two separate families but everybody knows that the Greengrasses started as the Greens, and that their founder upon building their fortune decided to distinguish his heirs from their lazier cousins by adopting a fancier name. The Blacks sometimes used Greek names but most often they favoured celestial names. In fact about a half of the sacred twenty-eight had favoured Greek names, a couple of them subscribed to the celestial style, a couple favoured traditional or wizarding variants of British mythology and the rest to Roman names."

"What is or are the sacred twenty-eight?" asked Hermione.

"It's a list of twenty-eight families, pure-blood families whose heritage the author of the bloody pamphlet called the 'Pure-blood Directory' had found to be the purest. It's also a load of bollocks if you ask me because there is no wizarding family in existence that has never, as purebloods sometimes like to put it: tainted their blood with Muggle heritage. The directory has no known author, but it has been widely attributed to Cantankerous Nott whose very own uncle, supposedly bit of a barmy one, married the sole heir of some Muggle baron or viscount from their area. And it didn't matter to the head of the Nott family of the time that the girl was Muggle. What mattered was that his son, or grandson, I'm unsure which, had provided the family with another mansion, additional land and improved the state of the family vaults. Supposedly not only did she survive the wedding night but also lived long enough to give him a son and daughter."

"That's…" Hermione started.

"Hypocritical?" Mrs Fawley-White offered. "Yes, it is. Purebloods often are. Only the most sheltered dunderhead that's never stuck his or her nose out of their house believes that his or her family had avoided the taint in their bloodline. Every few generations the Malfoys introduced a half-blood into the family, both lines did, French as well as the British ones. Same with the Greengrasses, the Weasleys, the Fawleys, the Macmillans, the Longbottoms…" she counted out. "It's actually far easier to say who strayed from doing that, mostly because their houses either had gone extinct or are at the brink of extinction. Then you have families of ancient lineage but no regard to blood status whatsoever. The Babblings, the Burbages, the Pinks, the Browns, the Boots, the Shacklebolts, the Ollivanders, the Potters. Most married for money, some married for love, some married within their own cultures. The Babblings and the Shacklebolts come to mind. Babblings married Jewish, Shacklebolts most often travelled in search for wives in Africa amongst the tribes. Supposedly to preserve their own unique ancestry and if they come from half a world away who will deny that the young Mrs Babbling or Mrs Shacklebolt isn't a pure-blood like the family presents her to be."

"I'm sure that if someone tried they could find proof," Hermione commented.

"They could but why one would waste their own money on doing that if they didn't have something to gain from doing it," Mrs Fawley-White shrugged. "You see, Hermione, wizards are lazy by nature. Hence the invention of spells that would do for you things you don't want to do yourself. Granted, some people are born with wandering minds and wandering souls, but at their very core wizards are lazy."

"I just wish that I could have her name," Hermione sighed. "It's great that she cared this much about me," she gestured at the bear. "But I'm not a step closer to finding her at all."

Mrs Fawley-White sighed, "You might never find her."

"I can still try," protested Hermione. "Please, Mrs Fawley-White," she whispered. "Maybe Sirius Black…"

"Sirius Black won't help you," Mrs Fawley-White snorted. "If he even was inclined to amuse himself and offered to help you he wouldn't be able to do so."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "What about the Black family? Maybe they…"

"There's no Black family to speak to or of," Mrs Fawley-White shook her head. "Their House is all but extinct and Sirius Black is their last living heir. He's also in no position to speak to anyone."

"Why?" Hermione pressed.

"Because he's one of the most guarded prisoners of Azkaban," Mrs Fawley-White said grimly. "A place where he most certainly deserves to be for all the misery he caused."

"Why?" Hermione continued to press. "What did he do?"

"What hasn't he done more like it," Mrs Fawley-White snorted. "I knew the Blacks, outside of Hogwarts we ran in separate circles but his parents were at Hogwarts with me, his mother and aunt even in the same year," she grimaced. "Walburga Black was a blood purist of the most close-minded and arrogant variety. Not much of a beauty either, unlike her cousin Lucretia. She was such a shrew that even one of the most handsomest dowries which the family offered for her hand in marriage hadn't lured more than a handful of purebloods into offering to court her. Those who did had been deemed unworthy by Wally herself, even if two of them had gained the support of the family. Then there was Orion, who, if he was given an option between marrying Wally or her brother, Alphard," she gestured at the bear, "would have surely chosen the latter. Homosexuals aren't heavily ostracised in the wizarding world, but marriage is still an union of a man and a woman not a man and a man or a woman and a woman. The Blacks however found themselves in a tight spot after the wife of Wally's other brother upon birthing her third daughter had been rendered barren. As spread out as the family had been it was full of ageing maids and bachelors and there were no male heirs."

"Until Sirius," Hermione muttered.

"Who had been dutifully born within less than a year of Walburga and Orion's marriage, and he was even followed by another son within another year. Up until he reached Hogwarts he was the proper pure-blood heir the family required, but then something had gone wrong by the family standards," Mrs Fawley-White paused. "The Blacks had all been in Slytherin, every single one of them, but for some reason Sirius wound up in Gryffindor. It caused quite a scandal back in the day, people talked about it for months on end. Not that there's anything wrong with being a Gryffindor, mind you," she paused. "But it quickly became evident that there was something off with that boy. He stopped being seen at public events and if he showed up he appeared to be guarded either by his father or grandfather. That went on for several years until one day, rumours started to spread that he fled home. Supposedly he fled to the house of one of his friends, James Potter. I knew the Potters, we weren't close but I knew Euphemia from charity work and neither Fleamont nor Euphemia would have allowed any charge under their care to work before finishing their schooling. So I sincerely doubt that rumour was true. But Black," she paused, "Black worked and for one so young, and from a family so unfamiliar with hard work, he worked very hard. He waited the tables at the Fortescue's with other kids who spent their summers at work to save some money but some people had also seen him in Hogsmeade."

"That seems more like a sign of responsibility rather than evil," Hermione offered.

"That appeared to be the case for a couple of years," Mrs Fawley-White sighed. "That behaviour certainly lured a lot of people into a false sense of security," she snorted. "His friends amongst them," she sighed again. "Black in his teenage years ran in different circles than his family. He had a couple of friends, mostly Gryffindors, a couple of Ravenclaws, but when he was seen around he was mostly working. From Fortescue's to the Leaky Cauldron, from dawn until dusk and dusk until dawn. He was easy on the eye, mouthy but in a good way, one that gained people's trust. Never asked for help but hardly ever refused to offer it."

"Still no signs of evil," Hermione muttered.

"Evil like that always remains in the background," Mrs Fawley-White snorted. "The Blacks were pureblood supremacists. Grindelwald and then Riddle's beliefs were right up their alley. Two of his three cousins had been married off to Riddle's supporters and his younger brother certainly frequented the company of those who were later revealed as Riddle's supporters."

"And Black? Was he frequenting the same company?" Hermione asked sceptically.

"Not publicly at the very least," Mrs Fawley-White grimaced. "When he wasn't working most often he was seen in the company of Euphemia and Fleamont's son, James. Sometimes they were accompanied by their other friends, one sickly looking fellow whose name escapes me at the moment and a Peter Pettigrew. At some point they were joined by James's girlfriend, Lily," Hermione's ears perked at that because what were the odds that two different boys named James Potter could have significant other called Lily. "You might have heard of them as the parents of Harry Potter," Mrs Fawley-White paused and sighed heavily. "Poor bastards," she shook her head. "But let's stay on Black. Eventually he and his friends graduated from Hogwarts and went their own ways. Black ended up with the Aurors and gained quite a notoriety there. He was smart, fast and deadly accurate. He was a dangerous opponent for anyone who had the misfortune of ending up at the opposite end of his wand. Took down a handful of Riddle's supporters straight away after graduating from his Auror training. And a couple more in the months that followed. I presume that was the reason why his younger brother, Regulus, had been disposed by his former friends and allies. Nothing makes an ally less reliable than a loved one at the opposite end of the conflict. Their father followed him a couple of weeks later, officially he was killed by a massive heart-attack but I sincerely doubt it was true."

"Why?" Hermione asked curiously.

"There was something iffy about the way it happened. Since it was a heart-attack the family couldn't press charges against anyone, but around that time Arcturus Black, Orion's father and Sirius's grandfather had stopped being seen in public. Black himself definitely was affected by their deaths. If anything he became more ruthless and far more deadly. That in turn got him a promotion to security detail of the Minister for Magic of the time," Mrs Fawley-White explained. "Maybe that's when it started, maybe not," she hesitated. "But if it didn't start there then it surely had started a couple of months later, with the death of his Auror partner. It's hard to tell how close they were because I never heard them talking about it. But I've seen them in the area, saw them a couple of times out and about after hours. She was a quiet young thing that laughed at his jokes and made him laugh in return. He definitely held her in a high regard which made her demise all the more tragic. But she signed her name on the dotted line the very moment she went after Bellatrix Lestrange. Something changed in Black afterwards, as loud and exuberant as he could be he became withdrawn and morose. He could often been found in the Leaky Cauldron staring into an empty glass for hours on end. I have no idea what could be going through that head of his at the time but it wasn't good. Demotion from the security detail followed shortly after."

"But that's grief," Hermione objected.

"I know grief, Hermione," Mrs Fawley-White sighed heavily. "Grief doesn't turn you into a monster and Sirius Black is a monster."

"Not according to the story you just told me," Hermione shook her head.

"Because we didn't reach its end yet," Mrs Fawley-White muttered. "Around the same time and for a reason that always eluded the wizarding public Riddle started pursuing the Potters. Vehemently and with a vengeance, their luck certainly held for long enough until," she paused and took a deep breath, and opening her mouth only to close it again.

"Until?" Hermione prompted.

"It's unclear when it actually happened but somehow Riddle managed to get his claws into Black. Black had been widely known as James Potter's best friend. He was the best man at Potter's wedding and…" her breath hitched. "Potter even made him the godfather of his little boy, Harry," she whispered. "Saw him once as a baby," she said softly. "With Black. They came in here one day in the late spring. He claimed that they were looking for toys for him," she paused. "They even found one that the boy liked, should have never sold him that," she grimaced and shook her head. "Hindsight always comes too late. Then the alarms had sounded but Black…" she grimaced again. "He was an Auror, he was there," she flinched. "He just stood there, rooted to the spot…" she brought her hand to her mouth.

"And then?" Hermione prompted softly when the silence started becoming uncomfortable.

"Then nothing," Mrs Fawley-White whispered. "I didn't report him, I should have," she grimaced. "Couldn't help but wonder about it for months," she sighed. "Then Halloween and the morning after came. First rumours spread during the night and then came the confirmation from the Ministry that Riddle had fallen after he failed to murder the boy but not before he had killed his parents. Black was nowhere to be found even though some of the Aurors had claimed that he was supposed to be on duty. Pettigrew found him eventually, poor bastard," she sighed heavily. "But a much better friend than that scum of the earth was. The reports claimed that he only managed to scream how could he betray his friends like that before Black killed him," she shook her head. "Him and twelve innocent Muggles, children amongst them. And do you know what he did then?" she looked at Hermione. "He laughed, supposedly all the way to Azkaban and by some accounts for weeks afterwards. So, no, Hermione, Sirius Black won't help you."

Mrs Fawley-White offered the bear to Hermione but she couldn't bring herself to accept him.

"If it's any consolation, regardless of his original owner, your aunt wanted you to have him. Black's magic did not touch him, I know what it feels like and it's not on him," Mrs Fawley-White sighed. "I can restore him to his former glory as I can restore her enchantments. If you wish so, obviously."

Hermione nodded slowly but her mind was already miles away, with Harry. Poor Harry, who most probably had no idea that his parents had been betrayed by their best friend, or that his godfather was a murderer. But that wasn't the worst. No, the worst was that after the last couple of days, after discovering that she wasn't who she thought she was ,she was unsure of what to do with what she learned from Mrs Fawley-White.

The right thing was telling Harry the truth because he deserved to know why his parents had been killed and who was responsible for it. But telling Harry the truth wouldn't bring his parents back, wouldn't undo the damage that Sirius Black had caused. A week ago it wouldn't have mattered, she would be already on her way out of the door and to post office or even on her way to Little Whinging. Because Harry deserved to know.

Harry also deserved happiness and peace, both in equal measure. The news wouldn't bring it to him. It would only hurt him, tear open the wounds he wasn't aware he had. They would make him grieve his parents again. Not that the Dursleys, from what she heard about them from Harry, had ever tried to make his status of an orphan any easier. They wouldn't help him with that either.

But she knew now that ignorance truly was bliss. Granted, it was still ignorance but it didn't hurt, it didn't cause distrust in the people closest to you.

What should she do? Tell Harry now? Wait until they would be at Hogwarts so she could at least comfort him in person? He would be needing it. He will be furious with Professor Dumbledore for withholding that piece of information from him and rightfully so. Surely Dumbledore had to know the truth about Sirius Black. Why? She wasn't sure. Maybe Professor Dumbledore hadn't been the only one.

Her head started to hurt.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This story updates on Tuesday but will have a surprise update this Thursday as chapter 7 is really tiny but necessary both to character building and future plot. Chapter 8 will be posted on a normal schedule, next Tuesday and will be... I found it very entertaining to write**


	7. 3rd & 4th July 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione suffers a minor set back in her quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** It's a very short chapter but one that I think is necessary in these days stories about coming for age when your main character is a girl. At the moment it brings very little to the plot, it might become more significant a couple of chapters more down the line. It also shows her relationship with her Mum, something I wanted to explore while keeping the Grangers relatively removed from the core of the story. For those looking for fun there's a chapter eight coming on schedule, it's another chapter that I think should be in a coming of age story but was way more funny to write as it's pure Hermione.
> 
> **This story updates on Tuesday.**
> 
> Also dedicated to all of my readers who stuck with me for so long. Thank You, I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism.
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen**

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter seven: 3** **rd** ** & 4** **th** **July 1993**

_3_ _rd_ _ & 4_ _th_ _July 1993, 34 Willoughby Road, Hampstead, London._

The headache that started in the Beady Bunch shop continued for the rest of the day and into the night. By lunch it was joined by stomach ache that made her change her plans. By the time she returned home she felt so miserable that she crawled straight into bed. She managed to doze off for a couple of hours and arose only to yell towards the kitchen that she wasn't hungry and that she was going to take a bath instead.

Upon undressing she discovered the initial cause of both her headache and stomach ache and she cursed. As a daughter of doctors she entered Hogwarts aware of what menstruation was and ways to handle it. As a teenage witch and a Muggleborn she also had a health talk with Madam Pomfrey on the subject too. Reassured by both her mother and Madam Pomfrey that she could come to them when it started, she smiled and promised that she would. And then promptly forgot about it since it didn't concern her yet.

Of bloody course she would get her first menstruation at one of the worst possible times ,and by the look of it she belonged to the unlucky lot who had it rough. Last year she brought home potions that helped with the worst symptoms of menstruation, but since Madam Pomfrey warned her that they only had a couple of months shelf-life she disposed them when she returned to Hogwarts. This year however, amongst the army of potions she brought with her, that particular potion was missing. She forgot to ask and Madam Pomfrey didn't offer it to her.

She seethed through the clean-up, of both herself and the state of her clothes. Without breathing a word to her mother she took a couple of sanitary pads from her stash and brought them with her into her bedroom hoping that she wouldn't need all of them.

She hadn't, but that didn't change the fact that the rest of the evening and night was pure misery. She managed to fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning and woke up just in time for lunch which made her feel queasy. Coupled with a headache that didn't abate at all, she locked herself in her bedroom after posting a big, fat sign that had 'Hermione At Work' on it.

That didn't deter her parents from asking whetever or not she would come down for dinner, for a movie, for a card game, for a midnight snack. Luckily by the next morning Mum brought a cup of herbal tea, a plate of plain toast, a sheet of ibuprofen, a thermoform and an entire bar of milk chocolate into her room.

"It sucks but it gets better," she told her as she ruffled her hair affectionately.

"Maybe when you're dead," Hermione muttered grimly. "I'm a witch and due to the increased lifespan of magical folk witches are known to menstruate at the minimum into their late sixties. Some really unlucky ones keep menstruating way into their late seventies. There are also records of a few women that gave birth well past their seventies. One at one hundred and one, and two others at one hundred and three respectively. That means they had to menstruate all the way up to their hundreds! I will most likely spend the rest of my life bleeding every month for a couple of days. Do you have any idea how many gallons of blood that's it?"

"I can give you a better guess than your Dad," Mum offered with a soft smile. "Although I never liked to think about it. I was blessed with a regular cycle and only one rougher day a month once my cycle stabilised. Yours will too."

But I'm not your daughter and you cannot apply your own experiences to me, had been on the tip of her tongue but she managed to bite it down in time.

Not yet. Not until it's the last resort and I have no other way of finding my biological mother, she decided. One day though…

She might not have been her biological mother but Mum was still Mum. Her soothing, gentle touch eventually lulled Hermione into a nap after which (mostly thanks to the tea and ibuprofen) she felt a bit better, physically at the very least.

Her inner turmoil on whether or not she should tell Harry the truth had not abated.

TBC


	8. 5th July 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On her way to her Aunt's old house Hermione encounters a minor setback which makes her change her plans for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 3000.  
>  **AN:** It's another chapter I find necessary in a coming of age story when the character is a girl. It's lighter than the last one and I believe very Hermione. But don't worry I will come back to dropping heavy stuff on her in chapter nine.
> 
> _Dedicated to all of my readers who stuck with me for so long. Thank You, I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._
> 
> Beta read by Regnbuen

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter eight: 5** **th** **July 1993**

_5_ _th_ _July 1993, Diagon Alley, London._

Monday found her back in London, mostly loitering around the alley. The herbal tea, ibuprofen and warmth of the thermophore and managed to abate the worst of her physical symptoms. The bleeding however continued steadily and she was sick of it enough to pursue wizarding alternatives. Luckily for her the small healing clinic in Diagon Alley didn't charge for such trivialities, and after a long talk with a sympathetic female healer she left it with a prescription for the potions she needed.

She immediately purchased the potions and even managed to hold on long enough to not down them right in the shop. She probably would have if she didn't spot an oversized bat a couple of feet away from the counter, seemingly very interested in the collection of the owners calming potions. The kind of which he could brew one-handed and with his eyes covered most probably.

Because she wasn't raised by wolves, on her way out after she said goodbye to the owner she chirped 'good morning, Professor Snape' and simply left.

She took her potions at Fortescue's with a cup of tea and a slice of a delicious apple pie that blessedly was something that she could hold down, just in time to see Snape settle himself at one of the empty tables outside. One of the waitresses approached him and exchanged a couple of words. She came back inside and after a couple of minutes returned to his table with a cup of coffee. To Hermione's mild disgust it looked as if the potion master was there to stay.

She tried to outwait him, after all this tactic had worked in her favour earlier that year. So she stayed inside. She finished her cup of tea and apple pie and ordered another cup. She lost about an hour and half trying to outwait him but Snape didn't move.

Finally she lost her patience, and after a couple of minutes of waiting for the right moment (and obviously paying for her order) she managed to sneak out if the café due to the chaos created by three women and their children meeting. The group was big and only about two of the kids appeared to be around Hogwarts age. They were also loud and obnoxious, colliding with each other, the door and tables.

For a couple of minutes it appeared that she had managed to succeed in leaving the potion master at Fortescue's. But when she stepped into Flourish and Blotts, out of nothing but pure curiosity for newly released books, she spotted him outside, seemingly carrying on a conversation with the owner of a stand with herbs.

Could it be possible that he was following her?

By the time she found herself in the stationary shop she knew for certain that he was following her. He wasn't even hiding it but he kept his distance. What for? She had no idea. She wasn't the only student Hogwarts age roaming the alley. On her way to Flourish and Blotts and then the stationary shop she passed by a couple of other students, some of which were Slytherins. Snape had no interest in them.

Well, two could play that game, she decided.

She purchased a self-inking quill, a pack of regular stationary parchment and a couple of notebooks. Then she headed to Quality Quidditch Supplies. She had no reason to be there other than to loiter around. She didn't play herself and her personal interest in Quidditch extended only to the performance of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and even then it was on Harry and Ron's behalf. If Harry didn't play, at the most she would have been bothered to attend the matches played by Gryffindor out of house solidarity, but wouldn't waste her time watching the other matches.

She wandered aimlessly around the shop, wondering what would be the better present for Harry's upcoming birthday: professional padding or a Broom Servicing Kit. Both had their own merits as gifts. Harry was an excellent seeker, but as good as he was he had the worst luck with accidents. He had also spent some time during the train ride back home talking with Fred and George about taking care of his broomstick during the summer. So a Broomstick Servicing Kit would also be a well-received gift.

She lost some time picking out the right one too, as there were several versions of it. Some were meant for regular users, some for Quidditch players, there was also a Deluxe version for racing brooms. The price of the last one made her balk.

She finally left Quality Quidditch supplies with a Deluxe version aimed for Quidditch players with Snape following her in the distance. Out of pure spite she wandered into Madam Pimpernelle's Beautifying Potions. She lost a couple of minutes there wandering around the shelves aimlessly, not really interested in the majority of the products. She eventually left the shop with a shampoo that promised to keep the locks luscious and healthy.

Then she ended up at Madam Malkin's. She didn't buy anything there because she didn't need new school robes, and if she had the end of the summer was better time for purchasing them. She spent some time pursuing the summer collection of regular robes but she found nothing that interested her.

She also ended up going to Twilfitt and Tatting's. Again out of nothing but spite and the need to lose her tail. The robes there, while still wizarding, looked more like something she would have wanted to wear. There was a variety of them, from utilitarian looking ones through soft summer gowns to eye-catching ball robes.

One of the summer gowns in particular caught her eye. Even from a distance it looked soft and light. It had flowery blue pattern and looked like a Muggle summer dress. She ended up wandering towards the hanger to examine it. In touch it was as soft as it looked, and the material under her hand felt very flimsy.

It would be an outrageous purchase and hardly a practical one. She rarely wore dresses, and out of school robes she mostly wore jeans. She did own a couple of skirts but she was neither a fan of their length or their patterns.

On the other hand, as finicky as the British weather was, she was going to spend the better part of the summer in France. While she didn't know any specifics, and she doubted that her parents knew them either, the weather further south should be sunny and warm.

"Contemplating?" said a young woman that appeared by her side.

"It looks gorgeous," Hermione admitted as she looked from the dress to her.

"It does," the woman agreed eagerly and cocked her head slightly to the right. "But it isn't really your colour. It looks much better on ethereal blondes. Your complexion however is more suited for solid, bold colours," she added as she reached for further into the line on the hanger. From the end of the row she pulled out a similar looking dress in rich red colour. "Now, that looks more like you," she said as she presented it to her. "Or if you want blue," she moved the hanger to her other hand and again reached in the depths of the row to pull out a similar looking dress in dark blue.

They all looked gorgeous and she said as much but she also managed to spot the price tag on them which made her flinch. The woman saw it too.

"They aren't cheap," the assistant agreed. "That's the hazard of working with material of greater quality and greater attention to details. I'm not saying that Malkin's stuff is bad because it isn't. But I've worked for both so I know the ins and outs of them," she paused. "Malkin and her seamstresses put a lot of work in quantity, hazard of catering to a larger crowd that prefers their clothes cheap. The thing with cheap clothing however, is that it's only seemingly cheap. Colours wash out faster, stitches come apart in the seams, repeated movements rub off the surface material. So consequently you need new clothes faster."

"So what you're saying is that's not going to happen with your clothes," Hermione said sceptically.

"I know that it won't happen," the assistant stated simply. "We're still Twilfitt and Tatting, but even though the names of Messrs Twilfitt and Tatting remain on the sign above the door, the store and therefore the brand, has for quite some time been in the care of their daughters-in-law. They're both experienced designers and seamstresses of American descend and adapted the brand to their style of work. They value the quality of their work more than the blood status of their customers and subscribe to the belief that their work will defend itself. Hence a little more frivolous designs while still maintaining the classics that with minimal changes has been in the wizarding world for ages," she nodded towards more chic designs.

"I'm not sure," Hermione whispered. "Don't get me wrong, they're all beautiful."

"But you aren't really accustomed to dresses, are you?" the assistant asked. "Why don't you try it on?" she offered the red dress to her.

Reluctantly Hermione accepted the dress and headed to the changing room. Trying the dress on wouldn't hurt, and the more time she wasted here would hopefully convince her tail to abandon following her around the alley.

The dress felt as amazing as it looked, soft, flimsy and surprisingly for wizarding robes, airy. The sleeves and lower part of it was flared, if a bit too long for a dress for a teenager. It had bateau neckline, a bit wider than most of her shirts but it wasn't outrageously deep. The colour was rich red with white poppy flowers.

"May I?" asked the assistant from behind the curtain.

"Yes," Hermione answered and the curtain was drawn away immediately.

"Not bad," the assistant said. "Not bad at all," Hermione saw her smile in the mirror. "If I may?" she asked.

Hermione had no idea how the woman could have improve something that already looked gorgeous but she nodded.

"You have gorgeous hair my dear," the assistant said as she reached for Hermione's plait and removed the elastic, then proceed to undo it. "A lot of it," she commented.

"Too much of it," Hermione sighed.

"Just a bit," the assistant agreed. "But that's a minor styling issue. You should see a hairdresser and tell her to remove the weight from the bottom, maybe add a little shape to it. Straight cuts don't look very flattering on curls unless you rarely wear your hair down like that," she added as she continued to muss Hermione's hair.

"I mostly wear it down," Hermione admitted.

"Then you definitely should get rid of the volume at the bottom," the assistant said. "I also recommend growing out your fringe. It shortens your face and with hair of such volume as yours it disappears. You're a gorgeous young woman with a beautiful face and you shouldn't hide it from the world."

While she was aware that it was one of the marketing tactics that was supposed to convince her to buy the dress, she couldn't help but blush. She had never considered herself beautiful, but she didn't consider herself hideous either. She was however aware of her shortcomings. She wasn't happy with her front teeth and while she was never the shortest of her entire class, amongst other kids born in the autumn of the same year she however was the shortest.

It was the first time when someone aside from her family had told her that she was beautiful. But if it wasn't then she had no memory of it.

She looked at her reflection critically. The assistant was right about her fringe, it was already getting too long. It wasn't at the point of getting into her eyes but it was reaching her eyebrows. Most days it ended up sticking to the longer parts anyway. The length of her hair had also gotten to the point where it didn't just look heavy, it started to feel as such, especially when it was wet. There was nothing she could do about her front teeth, but Mum wouldn't be averse to visiting a hairdresser before heading to France.

"Let me show you something else," the assistant said, tearing her from her thoughts. "Place your hands on your shoulders, opposite shoulders," Hermione did as she was instructed, "and now close your eyes," she waited until Hermione closed her eyes. "Now I want you to think about red poppies, any amount will do, could be one, could be a field, I just need you to visualise it."

Hermione allowed herself to summon the image of her Grandma's poppy patch in the corner of their garden. She smiled at the memory, she'd spent a lot of time spread out on a blanket near that patch, reading books together with Grandma.

"Now open your eyes," the assistant prompted.

Hermione did as instructed and gasped in shock. The dress had changed from red with white poppies to white with red poppies. It looked even more gorgeous in that version than in the red one.

"It's amazing," she whispered in awe. "But wouldn't changing like that cause problems with the Ministry?"

"Why would it?" the assistant asked simply.

"I'm a Muggleborn," Hermione whispered.

"Not an issue," the assistant shook her head. "The enchantment feeds of your magic to change, that's true, but it's such a miniscule amount of it that unless you change it in plain view of Muggles it won't be a problem. I don't know what they have been teaching you in theory of magic lessons, but when I was a student myself our instructor told us that regardless of the official restrictions every single teenage witch or wizard uses magic on a subconscious level every day. It's called bleeding magic, but unless you find yourself in danger, or are under a lot of stress, it's more like dripping."

Hermione looked at her reflection in the mirror with a sceptical look on her face.

"You're a teenager," the assistant said simply. "That means that you're growing up, but your body isn't the only thing that grows. Magic is a bit like the hormones in your body, sometimes it works in your favour, sometimes it does not. If you didn't release it in any way you would have gone crazy or at the minimum blown something up."

"But how can I do so without summoning Ministry officials?" asked Hermione.

"You don't," the assistant shrugged. "Typical teenage magical bleed, it's not something that you do consciously, most of the time. It's something that your body, your sub-consciousness, does for you. Sometimes it manifests itself in erotic dreams, that's more likely to occur in boys than in girls but still happens occasionally. Girls are more often likely to get the short end of the stick, because if you don't find another way to release it then it presents as acne, especially if you try very hard to keep yourself from doing it."

Hermione nodded and asked, "What can I do to avoid it?"

"Some, especially those with magical mothers has been subconsciously trained to do so with beauty regimes. For girls your age it's generally nothing outrageous, mostly hair care. Some keep diaries, those nifty enchanted ones, you know, the kind of 'for your eyes and hands only' ones although normal ones could do. Some channel it into penmanship. Some fly, it's one of the most popular ways to release your magic. Some cook, some brew, some maintain some sort of a garden. Like I said, it's not something that teenagers do consciously, and because it's such a small amount of magic the Ministry would have to keep a clerk in every wizarding household where there are underage children. Then there's the fact that most parents are aware of it and just ignore the law altogether because the Ministry, if the property isn't untraceable, can only trace magic to a particular location but not the source without checking everybody's wands," the assistant explained. "So for most of the time unless they register a spell that's particularly popular with younger crowds they ignore it. And since they almost never are able to keep up with current trends…" she shrugged.

"It's gorgeous," Hermione sighed. "But it's so delicate."

"Delicate?" the assistant grimaced. "Every Twilfitt and Tatting piece, aside from the fact that they're created from materials of better quality are enchanted so that they don't tear, intentionally or by accident; don't come apart at the seams unless the owner consciously plans to destroy it; they're also fireproof and stain-proof."

"Stain-proof?" Hermione asked sceptically.

"Not in a sense that you can't get it dirty because you can," the assistant explained. "But any stain or dirty you get on it washes out during the washing," she clarified.

"What about washing machines?" Hermione frowned. "Does it have to be hand washed?"

"It's a preferred method but you can safely wash it in washing machines too," the assistant replied. "You can even tumble dry it and it won't be destroyed."

"That's amazing," Hermione whispered.

"That's the quality of Twilfitt and Tatting," the assistant said simply. "Should I get you a bag or do you wish to stay in it?" she asked after a moment with a smile.

Hermione looked at her reflection once again. Aside from getting her potions and birthday present for Harry she accomplished nothing of what she initially planned. She even managed to acquire a cantankerous bodyguard which definitely wasn't something that she planned to get. Weirdly she still felt good about herself.

"If you wouldn't mind I would like to stay in it," she said after a moment.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Hermione runs into an old friend of her Aunt.


	9. 6th July 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione meets an old friend of her Aunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 6000.
> 
> **AN:** We're halfway through the story. Well, you're halfway through the story and I'm messing with the last two chapters of it. I have lots of time for that because I've got COVID and at the minimum another five days of house arrest and a vacation time after that. I fully intend to take the advantage of that. Hopefully, once I'm done with it I will finally finish chapter two of Semper Slytherin and then I will head to Entropy.
> 
> What I love about this chapter is how it came into being from a throwaway comment that Sirius made back in, I think, chapter 7 of Collision Course. I have insane luck with this kind of things and I'm quite proud of this particular keeper of a couple of secrets. Not that he would be the only one that she will encounter.
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen**

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter nine: 6** **th** **July 1993**

_6_ _th_ _July 1993, Diagon Alley, London._

It was downright ridiculous that it took her so long to get there, but she was finally standing before 12 Short Street, the last known address of her aunt. If she hadn't encountered and, after a night of sleep she could admit it to herself, also draw Snape's attention to herself, she could have been there yesterday.

It was slightly taller than the buildings surrounding it, which were also taller than the two storey buildings at the entrance to the alley. Most buildings at the north end of Diagon Alley and Short Street had between three or four storeys. Number 12 however had five regular storeys, and what looked like a liveable attic space. At the very least it had mansard windows, three of them. Seeing that the building easily towered over the ones in the area, from up there one would have a splendid view of the entire Diagon Alley and surrounding streets. In the Muggle world such a place would have been a prime spot, and she wondered for a moment if it wasn't the same for wizards.

The building itself wasn't terribly wide. Certainly not as wide as its next door neighbour that had four windows on each side of the door. Number 12 had only two on each side, narrower and smaller than those under number 14. Most of them, due to the heat, were if not completely open then at the very least ajar. Some of them were adorned with potted plants, some had clothing lines with clothes on them. In either case they all looked lively which gave her hope.

She reached for the doorknob but found it locked. Luckily it didn't take longer than for her to curse her luck before the door opened and a group of kids ran out of it. They all appeared to be below Hogwarts age, and without paying attention to her at all, and making a lot of noise, they all ran towards Diagon Alley.

She smiled at their retreating backs and headed inside.

What she found was a very long hallway with a narrow staircase running both up and down. A sign over the staircase that went down directed to flats 'A' and 'B', which made sense since the plaques on the doors she passed by respectively were adorned with 'C' and 'D' ones.

Gingerly she climbed up the stairs to the first floor where she only found one 'E' flat that encompassed the entire floor, which explained why the hallway on the first floor was shorter than on the ground floor. Second floor looked exactly the same, albeit the door to the 'F' flat was located on the opposite side of the corridor. Third and fourth floors held each two flats on both sides 'G', 'H', 'I', and 'J' respectively. Fifth floor also held two flats, 'K' and 'L'.

Her heart soared in her chest when she saw the sign over even narrower stairs that directed to flat 'M' only to plummet down into her stomach when she realised saw that it lead into a solid wall.

Panic overtook her for a moment until she remembered that at Hogwarts not every door was a door, just like not every wall was a wall. She waited until she got control of her breathing and with her heart lodged in her throat she started climbing the stairs towards the wall.

She barely managed to step close enough to find the wall within reach of her arms when someone bellowed at her from downstairs, "What the hell are you doing up there you infernal girl? Get down here right now or I will get my broom and give you the soundest beating you've received in your entire life!"

"I…" Hermione stammered as she whirled around, barely avoiding falling down the stairs by grabbing on the railing.

At the foot of the stairs stood a small, stout old woman. Unlike most of the old women she'd encountered in the last couple of days she looked neither kind nor welcoming. Her short, dark, greying hair were sticking out from underneath her hat and her lips were set in a line so thin that it appeared as if she didn't have them.

"Are you bloody deaf you muppet?" the witch screeched. "Get down here immediately or I will make you!"

Choosing to calm the witch down by following her orders, Hermione walked downstairs as quickly as she could.

"I'm sorry… I just wanted…" she stammered out.

"I don't bloody care what you want!" the witch bellowed in her face with such ferocity that she spit on Hermione. "Get the fuck out of here immediately, and if I find you here again I will dump a cauldron on your head," she snarled. "What're you waiting for? I'm counting to ten…"

Hermione bolted and was a floor down before the witch started saying 'nine'. But because the witch was still counting she continued going down until she found herself in the hallway on the ground floor just as from upstairs she heard the witch saying 'one'.

Luckily for her, 'one' instead of sounds of a cauldron zooming through the air was followed by a very sound slam of the door. So breathless from exertion she leaned against the wall by the front door and slowly slid down the wall.

She was a Gryffindor, she wasn't going to be deterred by one angry witch so close to achieving her goal. So what if that hag didn't want her there? She wasn't the only person that lived there. Someone more willing to talk would return home eventually and then…

Maybe it would even be her aunt, if not her mother.

She didn't have to wait long for the front door to open, only half of an hour or so but the person that stepped inside wasn't a woman.

It was a tiny, scrawny man, no taller than Professor Flitwick. His long, greying hair and beard looked unkempt. His clothes were mismatched and patched up. But he looked at her with a kind soft smile that reached his blue eyes.

"Can I help you, my dear?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"Yes," Hermione breathed out. "I'm looking for someone that used to live here years ago."

"Many people lived here over the years," the man answered softly. "It isn't exactly a prime spot, and ever since it gained notoriety only those who cannot afford a better place continue to live here. Who're you looking for?" he asked kindly.

"I…" Hermione stammered. "I don't know her name," she sighed. "At least I don't think I know her real one. She was very flexible with it."

"You just described half of the usual occupants," the man replied. "Narrowing that down will take a while. Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked.

"Thank you," she replied as she stood up.

She followed the man down the stairs to the basement. The stairs were wide but the corridor to which they led was tiny, so narrow that she could touch the surrounding walls without really stretching her arms.

The man led her to the A flat and after opening the door he let her in.

"I'm sorry for the mess," he said sheepishly. "I don't get many guests these days."

The flat was tiny, smaller than her own room and very cluttered. Underneath the windows stood a narrow and long table that was mostly covered in books, cork and pieces of various materials. Next to a solitary empty plate was sat a tin mug. There were only two chairs, one stood by the longer side of the table and the other by the narrower side. Next to the chair was a small kitchen nook. Like the table it was also cluttered. Most of the space was occupied by a small table-top cauldron of similar size to the ones that were used in Potions class, next to it was a rack of small vials filled with a shimmering blue liquid.

The other side of the room held a short toilet that could be partially seen through a divider that stood next to a rickety wardrobe. Beside the toilet were two bookcases reaching from floor to ceiling. However, only one of them was filled with books and vinyl records. The other bookcase held more of the same material that was strewn out over the table.

On the opposite side of the door was a small oval stove by which, in a safe distance, sat a rickety, dark green chaise lounge that was covered in a pile of blankets. On the opposite side of the chaise lounge stood a small, shaky table with a gramophone on it.

As small and cluttered as it was it also felt homey and welcoming.

"I don't see any," Hermione said with a small smile.

"It's very kind of you but we both know that's a lie," the man sighed. "I'm afraid that I've let myself go in the last couple of years. But enough of that. What would you like? I have regular Ceylon, earl grey and a raspberry tea of my own production," he offered. "I also have pumpkin juice and homemade strawberry lemonade."

Hermione hesitated. She was invited for tea and while the heat inside the flat couldn't be felt at all, the day was very warm and a glass of something cold sounded wonderful.

"I know that look," the man beamed at her. "Cold it is, personally I recommend strawberry."

"I would love to try it," Hermione answered.

"Do sit down," the man motioned her towards the chair by the narrow side.

She sat down where she was directed to and observed how the man started preparing the lemonade from what she suspected was homemade strawberry juice. Within a couple of minutes a tall glass of deliciously chilly lemonade was standing in front of her and the man was climbing into the other chair.

It was only after he opened the outer robe that she realised there was something odd about his legs. It seemed as if they couldn't bend at the knees, which explained the weird, ducky way in which he walked. She tried not to stare and immediately looked up at the man's face.

He smiled at her gently and Hermione felt the heat on her face.

"Don't worry," he told her. "You're young and like all youngsters you're blessed with curiosity. I really don't mind telling this story. It was so many years ago that it stopped bothering me decades before you were born. I was lucky to be walking behind a mate of mine that had the misfortune of stepping on a mine. He got himself blown up to kingdom come and I woke up a couple of days later to find my legs missing from the knees down. The Muggle doctors that took care of me also removed part of my left arm because I got a nasty infection in it, and with no way to contact my magical colleagues I had to comply if I wanted to survive."

"I'm sorry," Hermione offered.

"Why should you be?" the man shrugged. "You didn't put that mine in the field, and my colleague and I were arrogant and stupid enough to walk through it. The only thing I'm sorry for is that with such a handicap I had to leave the Hit-wizards. Luckily my Pa was a shoemaker and I spent my summers helping him so I had something to fall back on. But enough about me, and pardon my manners. I forgot to introduce myself, the name is Larry, Larry Lawrence and yes my ma and pa named me Lawrence Lawrence," he added with a small smile.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said.

"Nice to meet you, Hermione Granger," Larry said. "I would have shaken your hand but I'm old and lazy and getting out of this chair just to climb back into it would be too tiring."

"I don't mind," Hermione replied.

"So who're you looking for?" asked Larry curiously.

"A witch who lived here in the late seventies to at least early eighties, years of 1978 to 1980 most probably. At the very least she lived there in 1978 because that was when she left the information with the post office that she lived under 12m Short Street," Hermione explained.

"Why are you asking about her?" asked Larry sceptically.

"She's my aunt," Hermione whispered. "And the only link to my biological mother."

Larry's frown deepened and he hummed before he said slowly. "I know who you're talking about."

Hermione's heart jumped to her throat.

"Is she… Does she…" she managed to stammer out.

"She doesn't live here anymore," sighed Larry heavily. "Her home for the last thirteen years has been Kensal Green Cemetery in London."

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

"She was…" Larry started. "It's something that my Ma taught me. Heard it in a sermon when she was young and it stayed with her for the rest of her life," he paused for a moment. "The loneliest people are the kindest. The saddest people smile the brightest. The most damaged people are the wisest. All because they do not wish to see anyone suffer the way they do," he recited softly. "She was one of the kindest, warmest people I ever met, wise beyond her years too," he sighed. "She always reminded me of that poor girl that kept vigil by my side when I was in the hospital. Not a very good comparison but…" he paused again and sighed heavily.

"What was her name?" Hermione asked softly.

"I know about two, but the one I knew her under, the one she used officially and therefore the one under which she had been buried was Mirzam Verascez," said Larry softly. "I heard her…" he paused and swallowed. "It's not her birth name, that much I know but she never revealed that one to me. The only other name I heard of was Miranda. Randa-My-Randa he called her sometimes."

"Rilla-My-Rilla," Hermione whispered.

"Never heard of that one," sighed Larry.

"I don't think she used it. It was the fake name my mother used," Hermione explained.

"How sure are you of it?" asked Larry pensively.

"It's the fictional name of a character from Muggle books for teenage girls," Hermione clarified. "It's a series of books that resolves around the life of an orphan named Anne Shirley. It starts when at the age of eleven she's adopted by a pair of ageing siblings and continues through her teenage years into adulthood. Rilla is the name of her youngest daughter."

"That actually explains a lot while explaining very little," commented Larry. "Mirzam was an orphan you see, never heard her talking about her parents or siblings although I knew that she had those. At the very least she had one brother, but he died when they were both children. I wasn't privy to details so I can't be sure. Never heard about a sister though," he said and hummed.

"But is it possible that she had one?" asked Hermione quickly.

"I heard her once describing herself as a cuckoo's egg," answered Larry. "In the wizarding world it's a politer version of saying bastard, which she could have been. She never clarified whose and neither was she officially claimed as someone else after her death. So, I presume that she could have been a result of a summer dalliance. Well, winter dalliance because her birthday had been in September."

"Is that's why her flat is sealed?" Hermione asked.

"It's not her flat," Larry sighed.

"But…" Hermione protested.

"She lived there but she didn't own it," Larry clarified.

"Who did?" Hermione asked quickly.

"The property belonged, and still belongs to Sirius Black," sighed Larry.

Hermione's breath hitched.

"I take that you heard of him?" asked Larry. "All the good things I presume?"

"Enough," Hermione snorted. "But why is it sealed?" she asked.

"Safety precaution," sighed Larry. "The building originally belonged to the Steward family. They built it and made their living out of renting out the flats, at the very least until old Mr Steward gambled away their fortune. After he died his son, in an attempt to save his mother and little sisters from poverty, decided to sell some of the flats. Sirius Black purchased two, the l flat on the fifth floor and the attic space. It was quite a good deal for both. The attic space in particular was very cheap because it required the renovation of the roof and including such basic amenities like indoor plumbing. Prior to the sale the attic served mostly as storage space. But Black had a vision of what it could become and it was a nice one. I've been up there, only a couple of times but the view from up there is simply amazing."

"You can see the entire alley from up there, can't you?" asked Hermione.

"Yes," Larry nodded. "The alley from the front and Muggle London from the back," he added pensively. "Black was a smart one, and while he fixed the attic he managed to separate it into two flats, m and n. Because most wizards are superstitious it was hard for him to find someone interested in renting the M flat which is why the numbering up there was done in reverse. Eventually he found someone, a young member of the International Confederation of Wizards that used it whenever he was in London. M initially he rented out to Mirzam and one of her friends from Hogwarts. She was a new mother…"

"When was that?" Hermione interrupted him hastily.

"1978," Larry answered. "Bathsheda was the dishonoured daughter of the Babblings. Got pregnant in their last year of Hogwarts, refused abortion and marriage, to the baby's daddy as much as any other man her family offered. She rebelled rather violently and upon finishing Hogwarts moved in with Mirzam and the baby on the way. Her daughter was born in September, on the 30th I think. She named her Bathsheba, most probably out of spite with the old man Babbling. I can't be sure if she had godparents, official ones, but even if she had Mirzam and Black served as such. I don't know how things looked up there at home but whenever I saw baby Sheba it was either with Mirzam or with Black. Don't get me wrong, Ms Babbling was a good mother but she abhorred living at the mercy of her friends and in order to grant her daughter a better life than sharing a room with her mother and her friend she pursued higher education."

"Did she have another child?" asked Hermione pensively. "About a year or so later?"

Larry shook his head and sighed, "No, my dear, Bathsheba was the only one she had. The shame of being cast out of the family Ms Babbling could withstand. She bore it with patience and dignity of someone who knows that they are doing the right thing. The needs of her daughter were her priority and she did her best…" he paused. "She once told me that if it wasn't for Mirzam and Black they would most likely end up on the streets. She hated that, hated being at someone's mercy, even of such dedicated and caring friends. Told me that her baby would most likely be the only one she had. As far as I know that was the case. Even if she had one later on she didn't when she lived here, and by January 1982 she had entirely moved out of this place, not that she really lived here in 1981."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Because of Mirzam?" she added pensively.

"It sums up pretty nicely all that happened back then," Larry said and sighed heavily. "Mirzam lived with Bathsheda and baby Sheba in flat M, but she, as well as Black, finished Auror training and became an Aurors. It's a tough job, rewarding but time and energy consuming, also very dangerous. At the very least it was very dangerous back then. In June 1979, maybe a couple of months after they finished training, Mirzam and Black got themselves into a very nasty spot. She retained minor injuries that were easily healed but Black…" he paused. "The injury put him out of commission for a couple of weeks, most of which he spent in St Mungo's but some of this time was spent at home. It was during that time when the slow, never-ending dance of mutual attraction had bloomed into something stronger and more solid."

"You mean…" Hermione started.

"Black always had his eyes on her, I could see it, plain as the nose on your face, right from the moment the girls moved in. Perhaps even earlier than that. He tried his best to hide it but his eyes betrayed him whenever Mirzam was around. Not only that, he continued to go out of his way to ensure that whatever Mirzam wished for, she got. They were little things, stupid things that brought a smile to her face," he paused. "He loved to make her laugh, she had such a nice laugh. He sought her company and she…" he paused again. "She was receptive, she brightened up when he was around. Saw her many times watching Black with little Sheba with the eyes of a woman who knows that she looks at the future father of her children…"

"Did they have any?" Hermione asked.

"Yes and no," said Larry softly. "It took them some time but those two idiots finally came clean about their feelings for each other and they moved in together. They weren't one of those obnoxiously showing off people, but when one looked at them they could see that they were together and that they were happy. I have no idea why it had taken them so long to finally decide that they should get married. But…" he paused. "I remember that day as if it happened yesterday. It was afternoon and he was coming down, out for some errands and took a couple of minutes to talk with me. We were out in the hallway upstairs, on the ground floor and he was so excited that he was beaming. I asked for her hand, he told me, and she said yes. He also said that she was with his child, a boy it was supposed to be, they planned to name him Harrison. He…" Larry paused. "The Aurors that came to inform him about her death met us there. I saw it happen, that moment when the light had left his eyes and I never saw it again until many months later when he came to me in disguise with his godson. That little boy was the only one that could make the smile on his face reach his eyes. He said that he needed a place to spend the night but couldn't risk his using his own flat."

He paused and reached for his lemonade. He took a long sip of it and placed it back on the table before he continued.

"I never asked why, I never did," Larry sighed heavily. "He was a friend of mine, not the kind that one tells their darkest secrets but we helped each other. That's what I remember the best about him. Black never asked for help but he never refused it either. He was young, talented, stubborn to the point of obstinacy. Back then he reminded me of myself at his age. I envied him, in the same way an old man envies a young man his energy. I worried about him, told him that life had an uncanny way of bringing the most optimistic people to their knees. He laughed, told me that life usually was shitty but with a little bit of stubbornness and hard work it could sort itself out," he paused. "It never did. If his descent into madness started at any point, and he wasn't crazy to begin with, and I don't think he was, it started with the loss of his little family. They were both inconsolable, seemingly fine on the outside as long as no one brought up her name. They cared for each other but they couldn't stand being in the same room. Bathsheda eventually returned to her own family, in disgrace, with her head bowed and little Sheba in tow. It didn't work out as well for her as it did for Black. Had she stayed, had they soldiered on together through their grief then maybe what had happened wouldn't have taken place."

"Why do you think so?" Hermione said softly.

"Because even the most antisocial person in the world needs some form of contact with other people. Humans are pack animals, even the lone wolves that keep to the fringes of the pack. We need to interact with other people, if only to remember that we don't really like it," Larry said heavily. "Black had friends of some sort but I hardly ever saw them around, and I definitely didn't see them after Mirzam died, not once, not ever. Bathsheda tried, bless her, but it was evident that staying in each other's presence was causing both of them pain. She visited though, rarely, but it was still something. Grief of such profound magnitude destroys even the best of men, and the fact that the one that killed Mirzam had been no one else but his cousin…" he grimaced. "And hers wasn't the only loss he suffered. Within a year he lost his younger brother, his father, his future wife and his son. He hated his father with burning passion but his brother he cared for even if they didn't see eye to eye. But when that happened Mirzam was still alive and there to comfort him."

"You think that he did what he did out of grief?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"I saw grief destroying even the best of men, Hermione," sighed Larry. "You can take it from me, before everything that happened, Sirius Black was a good man. One of the chief lessons I learned in life is that no one wakes up one morning a bad person. It happens through thousands of tiny surrenders of self-respect to self-interest. Some say that he sold the Potters to the mad wanker, I used to not believe in it, but the image of him with their boy, his godson is something that stayed with me for years. He loved that little boy fiercely with all the love that life had denied him by tearing away from him his girl and his own little boy. Perhaps that was the case, perhaps not. We will never know for certain, and the only one that does will never be allowed any form of contact with the wizarding world. Believe me, I tried."

"Did they have other friends?" asked Hermione. "Someone who could have known something about Mirzam's other friends. Someone for whom she was willing to go through a lot to help."

Larry shook his head and smiled sadly, "You just described to me every person that turned to Mirzam for help. Can't say that it was a lot but she was always willing to go out of her way to help anyone that asked." He paused and took another sip of his lemonade before he continued, "Now that you mentioned it I remember something that happened when he was at the hospital. But when it happened I thought that maybe I imagined it. I spent a little too much time in the Leaky Cauldron with one of my French mates and got a little too drunk than usual. I was just standing by the stairs and calculating the safest method of getting down here without breaking my neck. I just settled on the good old-fashioned sliding down the stairs on my arse when the front door burst open and I saw Black hurry up it. At the time I was less concentrated on him and more on the basket that he had been carrying and," he shrugged. "I was really drunk so I forgot about it. Very early the next day, when I was climbing out to get back to the Leaky for the best remedy for a hangover, which by the way isn't getting yourself even more drunk, just a full on English breakfast. It was rather early and at the time I was convinced that I was still drunk so…" he shrugged again.

"You didn't see Black," Hermione assumed.

"No, my dear, I saw Black, just not the one I was expecting to see," Larry said with a small smile. "See that's what happens when one is too excessive with their alcohol intake, they tend to forget important things. But to be fair, hungover and from a distance I was allowed to be mistaken. Nevertheless I saw his face when upon nearing the door he turned around and looked up towards the ceiling. At the time I believed that it was Sirius, but now I know that I saw his soon to be late brother. What they talked about I have no idea, neither do I know what Mirzam did with that basket or what was in it. What I do know was the look on his face, it was the face of a man who just found the door to his jail cell open and had been told that he could leave it."

"Wasn't he supporter of the opposite side?" Hermione asked sceptically.

"Supposedly," Larry agreed. "The family neither confirmed it nor denied it but his name came up a couple of times during the trials. Sirius believed that he joined the Death Eaters…"

"Who?" Hermione interrupted him.

"Death Eaters, dark wanker's supporters, the more radical from the sympathisers. They carried his mark and carried out his nefarious plans. Most of them came from pureblood families but some were half-bloods. He adopted a fancy name for himself so his servants had to have one too. Personally I think that a bunch of morons fit them better, but then again I haven't been an active Auror or Hit-wizard for ages," Larry explained and snorted. "It puzzles me, I won't lie," he added after a moment.

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"Because as far as the wizarding world was concerned Mirzam Verascez had been a Muggleborn. If she knew who fathered her she never revealed that name to me, and with the way she looked the number of families from which she could have come was huge. She could have been a Black herself, she could have been a Macmillan, Crouches also possess similar colouring, and that's assuming that she took her looks from her pa and not her ma. She did have distinct features though, this high-cheekbone structure that can be found amongst many pureblood families. But which one exactly, I can only guess, I'm sorry that I cannot offer you more."

"It's enough," Hermione sighed. "You gave me her name which is more than I had when I started. She was very creative about her aliases. One of them I can't even spell out," she muttered.

"Zahradníček?" asked Larry curiously.

"How do you know that? And how can you spell it out?" she asked.

"With considerable effort," Larry chuckled. "Sirius and Mirzam discussed him and his career a couple of times when they were dining with me. It was an entertaining story. The surname itself is Czech, that much I know because Mirzam told me where it came from when I asked. It's their version of little gardener and considerably popular. But it could have been anyone. Her neighbour, her uncle or even her pa, at the very least the one that raised her. I tried to look him up after everything that had happened but upon leaving prison in 1960 he simply disappeared."

"Great," Hermione sighed.

"I'm sorry," sighed Larry.

"Well the letters I found were addressed to Miranda Zahradníček so your theory about him being some relative of hers has some merits," Hermione offered. "Not that it will help much in the long run."

"He could have gotten married and took his wife's surname," Larry said pensively. "Not a very manly practice in the late fifties or early sixties but a way to start his life fresh after leaving prison. If he did that…" he paused. "I found out that his ma used to live in Islington and she died in 1969 or 1970 after a long period of illness, so most likely he stayed close by but where exactly I have no idea. At least that's where I would have started my search," he paused again. "The last known address I found of her was 39a Myddelton Square, London. She's dead, as is the original landlord of that time, but his daughter was in the process of gaining the ownership of it. So she might know something."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered. "You helped a lot, Larry."

"Don't mention it," Larry said with a shrug and small smile. "I also have something that I think you might like. For me it's nothing but a memory of friends I lost," he added as he stood up on the chair and from the piles of books on the table he picked a giant leather bound photo-album.

He paged through it and finally settled on one of the pages towards the end of it. Very gently he removed the photograph from it and handed it to Hermione.

The photograph appeared to be taken in the very same room and showed a young woman with long, dark and curly hair that was talking animatedly with the young man with long, very dark, straight hair. She was seated on the chaise lounge and he was sitting on the floor, with his eyes fixed on her and a small smile on his face. Then someone, presumably Larry, appeared to attract their attention and they both stood up to great him. The loop of the photograph had ended on their hands finding each other and approaching Larry with smiles on their faces.

"I took it when they came down to tell me that they sorted out their feelings for each other and decided to be together," Larry said. "I borrowed the camera with the plan to accost them so I could show them how very much in love with each other they both were. Turned out that I didn't have to, but it was a nice memento."

"Larry…" Hermione started. "I can't…"

"Nonsense my dear, you can and you will," Larry interrupted her. "She was your aunt and I still have memories of her to keep me company. You deserve to have something of her."

"I have," Hermione protested. "She got me a teddy-bear," she added. "Sirius's teddy-bear as it turned out but she had it enchanted specially for me."

"From Mrs Beady Bunch?" asked Larry curiously.

Hermione nodded.

"That's a good solid work," said Larry. "Elsie was nothing but thorough, as was Mirzam."

"She still is," Hermione commented.

"So you hadn't heard?" asked Larry cautiously.

"What happened?" Hermione asked.

"Elsie passed away yesterday," sighed Larry. "She had a massive stroke just after she closed up the shop on Friday evening. Her son found her when he came in early on Saturday morning with new materials. She was rushed to St Mungo's but the outcome was grim from the start. She died at dawn, her favourite time of the day. I was returning from her funeral when I found you," he added sadly.

"She was your friend," Hermione whispered.

"Like many of them," Larry gestured at the photograph in Hermione's hand. "We could never agree on the subject of Sirius Black but as long as we avoided the subject we got along just fine. I spent many evenings with her and Terry in their workshop. Sometimes we used to do nothing but smoke and play cards, sometimes we each worked on our own stuff."

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered.

"Don't be," Larry smiled at her gently. "Elsie had a long and colourful life that was full of joy and laughter. She raised her children well and got to see her grandchildren. That was all she ever wanted, that and to bring joy to people through the toys she made. She will be missed, but as sad as her loss is, it isn't as devastating as the loss of someone who had their entire life ahead of them."

"I'm still sorry," Hermione said softly.

She stood up, walked over to Larry and placed her hand on his shoulder. His breath hitched and she saw a tear slipping down his cheek.

"Do you have friends Hermione?" Larry whispered.

"Yes, a couple of them," Hermione replied gently.

"Could you do something for me?" he mumbled. "Cherish them, Hermione, be merciful of their faults as long as they don't cause you or anyone pain. If they're worthy of your friendship they will stay with you and by you," he paused and sniffled. "Cherish them because you have no idea how little time you may have left together," he added mournfully and completely burst in tears.

She drew him into a hug that was only uncomfortable to her due to the weird position, which her spine didn't like very much. But she continued holding onto his shoulders and rubbing his back until eventually his sobs subsided. He pulled away from her and brought his hand to her face and he gave it a gentle cares as he smiled softly.

"You have her eyes," he said softly. "Not the colour, hers were hazel-green mind you, but the shape and the kindness…" he drew a deep breath if a bit shaky. "Enough feeling sorry for myself. There are a couple of things which I can still do for you."

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Larry takes Hermione to visit her Aunt's grave and discover that they aren't the only visitors.


	10. 6th July 1993 p. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry takes Hermione to visit her Aunt's grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 10 000.
> 
> **AN:** _First, allow me to state that views presented by the characters aren't the views of the author._ That said, I've been sitting on certain aspects of this chapter for over a year even though I didn't start writing Supernova until June. You will understand why soon enough. Thanks to my beta I can start updating this story on a faster two chapters per week schedule...
> 
> **Updates on Tuesday and Thursday.**
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen**

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter ten: 6** **th** **July 1993**

_6_ _th_ _July 1993, Kensal Green Cemetery, London._

Larry had warned her that side-along apparation wasn't the most pleasant way of travelling for first or second timers. He also mumbled something about tenth time being potentially unpleasant but tried to cheer her up by saying that eventually people get used to it. The key apparently was the trust which one put in the apparating party.

And Hermione did trust him. It was hard not to after the gorgon that guarded the entrance to Sirius Black's flat. He was kind and sympathetic but most of all he knew her aunt and he offered to take her to visit her grave.

She didn't puke, but mostly because she had nothing to puke with in the first place. By the time Larry apparated them to Kensal Green Cemetery the light breakfast she had eaten was nothing but a distant memory. Not that she was hungry or wanted to eat after experiencing side-along apparation.

But she didn't resist flopping to the ground as soon as she realised that she was standing on solid ground.

"It gets better," said Larry as he offered her his hand.

"I hope it does," she sighed. "Because if it doesn't as soon as I'm legal I'm getting a motorcycle and enchanting it to fly," she replied.

"May I ask why?" asked Larry curiously. "Brooms are quite reliable."

"Neither as a transportation method or as a cleaning device," quipped Hermione before she pushed herself from the ground. "Vacuum-cleaners are far more reliable for the latter and if I have to be exposed to the weather I rather be on something from which I can't fall off if I sneeze in case of the former."

Larry chuckled, "I heard that before."

"From Mirzam?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Weirdly enough, no," said Larry as he shook his head. "From what I managed to gather she was a good flier. Former Quidditch seeker but not good enough or interested in professional Quidditch. Sirius on the other hand… he had a list of issues with that industry that was a mile long. That's why he got himself a motorbike, great thing it was, all black and shiny, with a very comfortable sidecar. Used to tinker with it in whatever spare time he had left. Very quiet or alternatively very loud, fast and agile and obviously enchanted."

"Curious," hummed Hermione. "What enchantments did he use?"

"A plethora of them, from speed-enchantments to the most obvious cloaking spells and resizing ones. Could have been confiscated when he was arrested if it wasn't lost somewhere," replied Larry with a sigh.

"Well, I won't be allowed to drive for a couple of years and my parents will get a conniption if I get a bike," said Hermione with a shrug. "I'll worry about researching that later."

"That's the spirit," quipped Larry before he looked around. They were standing a couple of feet away from a pathway that in a gentle curve led to the left and right. Then he looked at the trees that surrounded them and appeared to make up his mind. "This place always confuses me," he admitted as he started leading them to the right. "It's the trees, you see, and sadly not enough of visits over the years. I remember that she was buried underneath the shadow of trees not too far away from the train tracks, but for some reason instead of the over ground one I always wind up within some distance of the metro station."

"Is it the only apparation spot here?" questioned Hermione.

"There are a couple around the place and one in the administration building," explained Larry. "It's not a typical wizarding necropolis, too Muggle for purebloods, but it does offer such burials. Hers wasn't one of them, the Ministry recognised her as dead and had issued a death certificate but back then they weren't exactly happy with sparing masters of the ceremonies to empty coffins."

"Why?" asked Hermione quickly. "Why was the coffin empty?"

"Because there was no body to bury," replied Larry. "And I know what you're going to say right now," he continued as she opened her mouth to protest. "It's not that simple, my dear. Not all caskets hold bodies and not all deaths are obvious. Hers wasn't," he paused and sighed.

"What happened?" asked Hermione nervously, partly wanting to learn how it happened and partly dreading the description.

"She was an Auror on Diagon Alley duty on the day when Arthur's Coven and Common Magic had organised their orientation trip for first year Muggleborns. Arthur's Coven had their own shopping street down in Cornwall but compared to the size of Diagon Alley it was tiny and at the time they didn't have a wandmaker in there or in the area. At the very least not one in whose abilities the Headmistress trusted very much. The Ollivanders might not be the only wandmakers in the country, but they were always the ones most trusted to offer their best work without additionally finning Muggleborns simply for their existence. Bellatrix Lestrange and her entourage had attacked them. It was a swift, organised attack meant to decimate the population of Muggleborns. Luckily for them the trip was chaperoned both by Mirzam and another Auror whose name escapes me at the moment as well as three teachers from each school. No one other than Mirzam died, but one of the teachers was severely wounded by a part of the entourage. Mirzam went against Bellatrix and while she managed to succeed in drawing her away from the kids, she went against her one on one and…" he stopped for a moment. "It wasn't known at the time, and hadn't been known until the trials had started, but the healer who confirmed her pregnancy was engaged to a minor Death Eater that wanted to rise in the ranks. While I never had any practical knowledge on how the examination is handled, I do know that part of the interview requires the expectant mother to give the name of the father if she knows it," he paused again. "Mirzam gave Sirius's name, that much I'm certain of, and by doing so she signed her own death sentence."

"Why?" asked Hermione.

"Because while Sirius might have been officially estranged with the Black family he wasn't completely cast out of it. He was a direct descendant of the last known Head of the Black family, and at the time the sole male heir of name, blood and magic. And by all accounts she was a Muggleborn that was carrying his child. That alone was enough for Bellatrix to want her dead, hell, her being a Muggleborn and having the audacity to get in her way would have been enough. But killing the mother of Sirius's child and therefore his child in the process was an added bonus," explained Larry and sighed heavily. "I don't know what kind of spell she had used, nobody does, all that's known is that after a short exchange of spells Bellatrix hit her with something that literally wiped her out of existence, leaving behind only her wand, engagement ring and enough magical backlash where she stood that would have killed a dragon, let alone a young witch. Then she cackled like a maniac, claimed that it served her right and disapparated. Because there was no body the scene was very diligently examined. One of the theories that I heard was that Bellatrix caught her while she was intending to disapparate to give herself some distance or cover and whatever she used struck Mirzam midapparation causing the magical backlash. Her body was never recovered even though the entire alley and surrounding streets were searched very thoroughly."

"How certain were they of that?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Well, I know Mirzam well enough to know that if she somehow managed to survive it she would have turned up, if not within couple of days then at the very least within the time it would have taken her to physically recover. Couple of months to about a year afterwards. Sirius wasn't that optimistic, but then again he knew better than I did what Bellatrix was capable of. They were cousins, you see, and with Bellatrix being substantially older than him and his brother, as well as her own sisters, they were all terrified of her when they were children. From what I heard with good reasons, apparently when one of her sisters was an infant she tried to murder her. She was sent away to live with her grandparents afterwards, surely in hopes that they would manage to rein her in, but…" he paused and grimaced.

"It didn't work," offered Hermione.

"Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. What I do know was that theirs wasn't the most happy and peaceful of unions. Their daughter, Sirius's mother, was an old maid that at the time lived with them and was surely a couple knuts short of a galleon, and with such role models and guardians the environment most certainly contributed to amplifying Bellatrix's violent tendencies. Then there was her fascination with dark magic, that certainly didn't help matters. And the girl that eventually returned to the bosom of her family was just as wild as she was when she left it but far more conscious of the effect of her actions. Around a couple of her relatives, like her parents or the Head of the Black family she attempted to be on her best behaviour, but as soon as she was out of their sight she did nothing but torment. Mostly the family house-elves, they got the lion's share of the abuse, but it wasn't limited only to them, her own sisters were afraid of being left alone in the room with her or having her alone in the room with their cousins. I do know that some attempts were being made to rein her in, like minimising her contact with the elves to the barest of necessities and strict prohibition of complying to her orders as long as they weren't confirmed by either of her parents…"

"That's quite intimate knowledge of what went on in that household," observed Hermione. "Are you distantly related to them or something?" she asked curiously.

"No," chuckled Larry. "But you have to understand that I went to Hogwarts in 1918 which even to our kind was a turbulent year and it showed. Normally the sorting odds don't differ too drastically from a relatively even number of students per house divided between boys and girls. But every now and again an odd year happens when the proportions are off. My year was one of those. I was one of the two Slytherin boys against fourteen girls and they were a mite overwhelming company. Less to me because I was a half-blood and my father's family, while magical, had nothing to their name other than their backs hunched from hard work and the callouses on their hands. But Regulus Black, he was the younger son of one of the most politically powerful families and at the time a grandson on the current Headmaster of Hogwarts. While he was socially smart and could be charming if he wanted he never felt comfortable in social situations. He was a house misplaced Ravenclaw at heart and was happiest when he was buried under a pile of books or tinkering with something. And the frailty of genius is that it needs an audience, a genuine audience, and I provided that. I usually left him to his own devices, occasionally making sure that he made it up to a meal or to class, and when he wanted to talk something out I offered a willing ear. Not out of obligation, mind you, I was fascinated by the connections his mind could make and I genuinely liked him. He could at times have a morbid sense of humour but that suited me just fine…" he paused.

"You miss him," offered Hermione.

"I do," sighed Larry. "Can't say that I would have called him my best friend by the time we graduated, but this," he gestured with his hand at his missing appendages. "It proved to me who was worthy of that description. My former colleagues had deserted me, a girl that I was planning to eventually propose to had ran away from the room screaming as soon as she saw me…" he shook his head. "But he?" he chuckled. "Showed up massively delayed, regaling me with a story on how he managed to commander a Muggle airplane from Germans and how he had to escape the pursuit while force feeding me with lunch I could barely bring myself to look at, let alone eat. Then he went to argue with my doctors about transferring me back to England. Followed me through the stint in St Mungo's which nearly bloody killed me and removed me from there when he realised that my healers gave up on me like I had. He refused to do the same and with the help of the elves he nursed me back to health until I was well enough to just wallow in my misery. He started bringing around people that motivated me, so did he, but at the same time he tried to figure out why an attempt to fit in prosthetics nearly blood killed me. He gave up nearly two years of his life to ensure that on the day I left his care I was physically and mentally sound and had some form of support system in place when I felt down."

"Sounds like a good friend," said Hermione.

"One of the best I made over the years," said Larry softly. "A persistent and annoying bugger at times but one of the best people I ever had the good fortune of knowing. Which makes his loss all the more tragic, it came too soon and what was even worse, it came from his own hand. By accident, but his brother could never believe that," he paused. "He came to me on the day of his funeral which I chose to not attend because compared to them…" he grimaced. "He was my friend, but we had always avoided family gatherings. I knew his older brother, sister and parents though. It was hard not to, seeing that we were all in the same house. But he was a seventh year when we both had been ickle first years. He was a Head Boy with a pretty heavy school load, and even back then there were whispers that he was being groomed into the position of future head of the family, so whatever attention he had left was occupied by maintaining connections which his father and grandfather had found desirable. And I wasn't exactly one of them, my family had no money or political power to speak of and with my mother being a Muggleborn I wasn't exactly a proper choice for a friend. My friend didn't mind that, neither did his brother. I once heard him telling their sister that he was happy that their brother made a friend at all. And when he was in one of his benevolent moods and had time to spare for us he was willing to lend a willing ear to clarify whichever issue had bothered us."

"What was his name?" asked Hermione.

"Arcturus. Arcturus Black, their sister was named Lycoris. She was a quiet, fragile looking girl that constantly had to be chased out of the music room and if not out of there then she could be found in greenhouses, usually up to her elbows in dirt," answered Larry with a soft smile. "She was an occasional visitor in her brother's estate and used to bemoan the quality of work of the shoemaker that supplied them for decades with footwear while she was visiting. At the time I was still relearning how to use a wand with my non-dominant hand and taking care of myself was hard work, let alone trying to adapt the trade that I once knew into new circumstances. It helped, her complaints and sneaky comments on how even with one hand I could fix the shoes made by someone who had both," he smirked. "Now I know that I was being played because the first shoes I made for her had to be uncomfortable as hell. But she kept coming back, bringing magazines and samples of fabric, joking about how nobody could make this or that design work. She was truly a dear," he sighed. "Died a couple of years after Reg, had a massive stroke while she was working in her garden on the eve of a grand ball that was hosted at the Black manor. Sent her elves away to help with preparations, that's why she hadn't been found until next morning. Spent a night outside, in icily cold rain and in spite all of the efforts to save her she died within a day without regaining consciousness."

"I'm sorry," whispered Hermione.

"So am I," said Larry softly. "Reg's death was hard on Arcturus, especially considering the circumstances. He never believed that his death was accidental even though both French Aurors and I tried to convince him that it was. He even went as far as dragging me to Paris with him as his consultant. You were his friend, he told me, the one who knew him best. If you will say that he died by his own hand I will believe you," he said and paused for a moment. "Never had though, when he stopped believing in murder he convinced himself that it was a premeditated suicide."

"And you didn't believe that?" asked Hermione curiously.

"No, Reg was a brilliant potioneer but his area of interest had never been in perfecting recipes into working flawlessly. He was always far more interested in figuring out what could possibly go wrong with them. Had he been born to any other family but the Blacks he most certainly would have made his living as a researcher at St Mungo's or a laboratory worker for the Aurors. But because he was a Black and his father had decided that such work would be beneath him, Reg decided to self-employ as a private consultant. He hared out to France as soon as he managed to weasel money out of the old man for his mastery program, got his Third and Second Class mastery but by the time he graduated from the latter he had gained enough notoriety as a consultant that he couldn't be bothered to pursue it further. He did most of his work on the continent, most often in Franc,e but he was a polyglot so over the years he visited many interesting places. And as the years passed and I established my small business, he developed a mysterious streak of bad luck that plagued his shoes. Weirdly he always kept coming back to me even when I teased him that he should make use of the French shoemakers," explained Larry.

"You know…" started Hermione.

"Yes, I know," said Larry simply. "But that's what friends do. I never liked being a charity case, one of our biggest arguments was over his invitation to retire to France. But he knew me and he knew that while I could and would reject charity, I could never refuse work. So work was what he gave me, I made more shoes for him than I ever made for anyone else and in a relatively short time. That duty upon his death had befallen on his brother and sister, even though he left me a pile of gold to sort myself out as well as my missing appendages. But he knew me and he knew that if I found someone in greater need of it I would give it up. That's how I eventually acquired Arcturus and Lycoris as clients and after a while Arcturus's wife. I have no doubts that Reg had left with him instructions to look after me, and he did, in the only way I was willing anyone to look after me, through work."

"That's how you know about Bellatrix," said Hermione with a nod.

"Mostly from Reg, a little bit from Lycoris. Arcturus tried to avoid family related subjects but the older we grew and the less our conversations strayed from politics the more he opened himself up. Not enough for me to call us friends but enough…" he shrugged. "He was a very private man and I proved to be a soul of discretion. He wasn't pleased with the state in which his father had left the family. In particular he resented the underage marriages, claimed that they were doing more harm than good. His cousin, Bellatrix's grandfather, was married off to a woman eighteen years his senior when he was all but twelve years old and had done the same to his son, albeit the bride he picked was much closer to him in age."

"Why would anyone do that?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Money, power," sighed Larry. "And children obviously. You have to understand that both unions had been made in particularly dreary times. The Great Muggle War didn't decimate our population as much as that of the Muggles, but the flu pandemic that followed it did. And that was when Grindelwald was on the rise so people were terrified and grasping at straws. Cygnus, because it was his bright idea to see his son married off at that age, even though he had three older brothers, decided that they were all ill equipped to produce an heir that was worthy of the title as the next head of the family."

"Why?" asked Hermione.

"Well, Sirius had Arcturus and Regulus but neither of them were married even though both were at the age when a proper pureblood wizard should begin to look for a proper pureblood lady to court, neither did they make any attempts to do so. Then there was Phineas who was far more interested in tinkering with Muggle stuff than looking for a wife. Then there was Arcturus, who actually got married around the same time as Cygnus did, and he even managed to produce three children with his wife. Unfortunately they were all daughters. His wife had perished in childbirth and even years later he refused to remarry," explained Larry. "There was also the disparity in their ages. Sirius was between twelve to thirteen years old when Cygnus was born and never had a particularly good relationship with him to begin with. Top that with the fact that their mother died in childbirth a mere hours after Cygnus was born. Not exactly good basis for a decent relationship, particularly with their age difference. Sirius never hid from his brother that he was particularly against Cygnus's general existence because old Lady Black had nearly died while giving birth to their sister a couple years prior," he added and paused.

"Sounds awful," said Hermione softly.

"Then there was the title itself and Sirius being a model Head of the Black family. Proper marriage to a pureblood of a neutrally conservative standing, three children, two of which were sons that would carry out the name, blood and titles. Couple that with financial dependency to his brother's good humour and you get one hell of a rivalry. Because of that and the disparity in the ages between Arcturus, Regulus and their other cousins, by the time when Cygnus's children were old enough for him to plot doing something useful with them, their relationship had been strained enough for Cygnus to be very surprised when he received an invitation to Arcturus's wedding."

Hermione snorted softly.

"Had their relationship been less hostile Cygnus would have known that the only reason Arcturus was holding out with courting his intended was because he had to take care of her prearranged match," added Larry, sounding almost cheerful.

"Did he kill him?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Merlin, no," snickered Larry. "Had to wait for the poncy git to return to England from his very extended trip around the world. Once he did, Arcturus devoted a couple of months to shadow him for long enough to gather incriminating evidence that would have caused Mr Macmillan to dissolve the marriage contract without any financial repercussions."

"And what about his intended?" asked Hermione sceptically. "Did she had no saying in it?"

"Oh, she was in on it from the beginning," said Larry cheerfully. "Had been very much against that union because her heart had chosen that cunning old coot. Even helped him to organise the unveiling of her potential husband's misdeeds at the eleventh hour right before the wedding. Quite a scandal it was, some inheritance was involved that would otherwise be lost to another family if she hadn't gotten married by her twenty-fourth birthday on which the wedding day was appointed."

"So Arcturus swooped in, got the rival out of the way and offered to restore his bride's honour and saved the inheritance," said Hermione.

"Let's not forget having an entire wedding arranged and paid for by his rival's family," added Larry with a smile. "All the Blacks had to do was show up. He always had a certain flair for dramatics. Old Lady Black was quite cross with him for that but not for long. Cygnus on the other hand was furious with him because his surprise, get your rival out of the way wedding overshadowed that of his son that followed it a couple weeks later. It was that Black family wedding people kept talking about for months. Their daughters were even born a day apart. But what really pissed off Cygnus was the discovery that Arcturus's son Orion and his older grandson Alphard instead of being invested in looking for proper wives had been very interested in examining what was beneath their robes. Together."

Hermione snorted.

"Sounds like a lovely family," she commented.

"Some better than most," said Larry more sombrely. "Cygnus's daughter, Cassiopeia was an interesting customer. Started her adult life as a Ministry employee, some undersecretary in one of the departments, never married but flirted with anyone that looked at her for too long. Then at the age of fifty-five she decided to retire and moved to Italy to run a brothel. Until her very least days she continued to wear high-heels, some of them as sharp as needles and no woman her age had any right to look as good in them as she did. Weirdly, even though she was surrounded by far better designers at the beginning of each season she returned to England to equip her wardrobe with my shoes. Claimed that what was good for Lady Black was good enough for her."

"What about Sirius's parents?" asked Hermione pensively.

Larry grimaced before he answered, "It was an unhappy union, one into which Pollux had managed to coerce Arcturus and Orion. Arcturus never cared too much about continuing the bloodline, especially after Melania lost the second son she was carrying. The circumstances in which it happened had rendered her barren. If it wasn't for that maybe they would have had a couple more children and the travesty that was Orion's marriage wouldn't have happened. But it did. From what I heard Pollux had threatened to marry Alphard off to a family which name escapes me at the moment. Not that it really matters, what did, was that they employed chastity spells in their marriage contracts and that they were very homophobic. To the point of having individuals suspected of homosexual leanings disappear in questionable circumstances. No one ever managed to pin anything serious on them but…"

"But it worked," said Hermione.

"And it took an ageing old maid from Pollux's hands. Arcturus was furious with him but Orion consented to the match in the hopes that Walburga, who like I said was a couple knuts short of a galleon, wouldn't mind her brother's presence in their home. I'm not sure about her but Alphard minded, greatly. Was it because their public exposure would have affected his sister's honour? Or had the proposition to be a kept man offended him? I'm not sure. Alphard was one of those that took his footwear concerned business elsewhere. So Orion and Walburga got married, sometime early in 1959, January or February, Sirius was born in November and Regulus followed him about a year and a half later. Sirius never spoke of what his childhood looked like but from Arcturus I know that the boys spent as much time as was appropriate with him and Melania."

"What happened to them?" asked Hermione pensively.

"Death, eventually," sighed Larry. "Regulus died in early November 1979, shortly after he was followed by Orion. Melania suffered a massive stroke around the same time as Mirzam died and while she survived it her condition was so dire that Arcturus locked himself up with her in the manor. He only emerged after Sirius's arrest and was seen arguing with Bartemius Crouch, Minister Bagnold and Dumbledore. What about, I have no idea, he never mentioned it. Maybe securing Sirius more comfortable accommodations than the ones down there. If that was the case, it didn't work. If it was about something else he never mentioned. All that I know is that he was seen screaming at them that they would pay for it. What it precisely it was I have no idea."

"Did they?" asked Hermione.

"Well, Barty's son was caught along with Bellatrix and her usual entourage torturing the Longbottoms a couple of weeks afterwards. I'm uncertain of the extent of Arcturus involvement in their exposure or the choice of victims. The man I knew wouldn't have sacrificed innocent people for the sake of getting even. But that man in a span of two years had buried his grandson, his son, seen the love of his life turning from a vivacious ageing lady into a motionless shadow of herself, then Sirius happened and after Sirius there was the attack on Lucretia that killed her husband and traumatised her beyond recovery," answered Larry grimly. "Hard to say who or what was the collateral damage in his situation. All that I know is that the man I saw the last time before he completely locked himself up in the manor was a shadow of the man I knew. He lost weight, not that he had a lot to lose to begin with; gone grey…ish even though at seventy-nine he still had a mane of heir as black as it had been at nineteen."

"And then he died," finished Hermione.

"Eventually," said Larry with a shrug. "Not for another ten years during which he made no contact with anyone. His daughter remained under the care of her late husband's relatives. She never left her house like he had but unlike him she allowed people to visit. Only the closest family. I have no idea what happened to Melania. The Macmillans never announced her death, or if they did I missed it. Walburga died the earliest, in 1985, there were some whispers about a suicide which was a result of a forced confinement to which Arcturus supposedly subjected her to in retaliation for something. It's unclear because Pollux was the source of those rumours and everything he said publicly always had to be taken with a spoonful of salt. Pollux eventually followed her in 1990, never receiving the honours his father coveted for him. Neither did his son even though Arcturus supposedly died in late 1991. Then Cygnus died in early 1992, heart attack from what I heard. Cassiopeia and Lucretia followed them in the summer."

"What do you mean by supposedly?" asked Hermione suspiciously.

"There's a law, one that's been established since back when our kind first started to wander too far from home for long periods. It was nothing more than a leash for those of our kind that was too curious to bear in mind family obligations," explained Larry. "It states simply that for any living wizardfolk to be declared legally dead they have to fail being seen by a human or any living being for ten years. Hence a trend in taking house-elves along for the explorations of the world if one has any. If anything happened they were obliged to notify the family and if nothing happened and a decade passed without contact all that was required was sending a house-elf to a meeting with the head of the family and a ministry official," he added. "Master isn't dead, master is just busy with frolicking with lions down in Africa when he isn't frolicking with Malaria."

"Frolicking with malaria?" squeaked out Hermione.

"The curse of nineteenth century explores, particularly in Africa. It was only back in the mid-twenties when the healers proved that our kind cannot contract malaria. We can contract other curious things native to that region but not malaria. It's not as if folks back at home will figure out who Malaria is unless one is careless enough to knock her up and some of them even managed to get away with that too," explained Larry.

"Seriously?" chocked out Hermione.

"Yup," nodded Larry. "Argus Diggory, a nineteenth century explorer of a dubious fame even managed to maintain three wives simultaneously for nearly thirty years before the oldest sons of Malaria and Leprosy decided to travel to England and ask their dear old pa for help in establishing businesses on English soil. The family fortune never recovered after that stunt. But that happens when one is benevolent with spreading their seed and not entitling their wealth to individual heirs. The Diggorys wealth had to be spread out between five heirs from England, twelve from Africa, seven from India and three from the United States of America."

"And when was contraceptive charms first invented?" asked Hermione pointedly.

"Potions and as far back as a third century BC. Tinkering with charms hadn't really been started until the seventeenth century," explained Larry.

"People can be so stupid," snorted Hermione.

"Arrogant," corrected her Larry. "Mind you, there's nothing wrong with having a little bit of hubris in your intellect and abilities as long as you maintain equal measures of humility. Arrogance unfortunately is a common flaw amongst our kind, the wealthier they are the worse it can get."

"So you aren't convinced that Arcturus is actually dead," said Hermione, steering the conversation back to the subject of Arcturus.

"What I know is that Sirius is Arcturus's heir, in blood, name, magic and wealth. Arcturus at some point after Sirius ran away from home slipped out that by the family law the entire estate is passed down the male line as is the title. The only exception with the title is that it befalls to the firstborn son of the male heir unless he dies childless. Arcturus couldn't disinherit Sirius even if he wanted, not without challenging a centuries old law and tinkering with blood magic or use of good old fashioned murder," explained Larry. "And if Sirius had received his inheritance and the title he would have done what all the others before him did."

"Meaning?" asked Hermione pensively.

"He would have bought out his freedom and taken off to Australia or New Zealand," muttered Larry. "The Black family fortune is massive, the family always kept fingers in many pies and they married well. They were religiously devoted to primacy and knew how and when to use it. Old Sirius and Arcturus were no different, no one dared to disobey their financial decisions seeing that the family only benefited from them. And we're only talking about their monetary wealth, then there are property deeds and the sheer amount of them would have been enough to buy his way out of Azkaban and got him an island on the other side of the world."

"That's sick," snorted Hermione. "He's a convicted criminal, a mass murderer on that."

"Some people got away with far worse as long as they had wealth they were willing to part with and could run fast enough," replied Larry sourly. "Granted most of them weren't officially convicted, but a couple of those that were had enough clout to bribe whatever Minister was in charge at the time. Our kind is disturbingly easy to corrupt, especially those that come from a background where quite a lot of money is still not enough money. I have no doubt that Bagnold had been itching to get her hands on the Black family fortune. And Fudge is even worse, heard him talking a while back that he has another inspection in Azkaban coming."

"Maybe he cares about the security," offered Hermione.

"Of the state of his vaults maybe," snorted Larry. "I was an Auror, Hermione, and every Auror at some point of their career back in the day had to spend a couple months in Azkaban as a warden. It was the easiest way to learn the faces of repetitive offenders. Official protocol demands only one Ministerial visitation per year and it's the annual inspection of the state of the wards, building and wardens. Since he became a Minister Fudge at the barest minimum has been ten times to Azkaban, which is about seven times too many for what's required. What was he looking for on that godforsaken island if not fishing for a bribe?"

"Relatives?" asked Hermione.

"Only child, as were his parents, long deceased. Widower, wife was an orphan, no children. Try again," replied Larry quickly.

"People would have lynched him if he allowed a convicted criminal to go free," protested Hermione.

"They would, if they knew that he had done so," Larry pointed out. "It's fairly easy. All one has to do is die, and a quite suspicious number of convicted Death Eaters has croaked within the last two years. Some had families, some were last surviving members of their houses. Some of those families suspiciously moved away after their imprisoned relative passed away. To Canada mostly, some to the United States, others to Australia."

"But that's…" started Hermione.

"Sick?" offered Larry. "But unfortunately highly likely as long as one can afford it. Some luckily cannot, I can't even begin to imagine what would have happened if the Lestranges hadn't been subjected to the Black family primacy. The male line is all but dead with the exception of those two fuckwits and their fortune has been sized as a restitution for their failure to provide Bellatrix with an heir and allowing her to get caught. Rodolphus still retains the title of the head of the family but a fat lot of good it does him if he has nothing to back it up with. Their assets are all frozen under the care of the Black family goblin and he would never go against the Head of the Black family's will."

"And with Bellatrix murdering Mirzam it's highly unlikely to happen even if Sirius himself would have bought out his own freedom," finished Hermione.

"Unless having Bellatrix croak is something he's waiting for," offered Larry. "Highly likely knowing Sirius if Arcturus is indeed dead."

"And you don't believe he is," said Hermione.

"It's not a matter of belief as much as a gut feeling, Hermione," sighed Larry. "Hogwarts' motto has warned generations upon generations to never tickle a sleeping dragon. And one thing that I learned through observation is to be wary of incurring the wrath of a Black, for the consequences could be just as dire if not worse."

"Like Barty Crouch," nodded Hermione.

"Like Barty Crouch," agreed Larry. "And Arcturus's death?" he grimaced. "Too quiet, too suspicious, lacking details and with a sealed manor that prevented anyone from accessing it. A funeral on the grounds that had only been attended by the family elves and only those that worked at the manor. If that old coot isn't dead then he's up to something and I'm not sure where I want to be when the truth comes out."

"Australia?" offered Hermione.

"Too close," snorted Larry. "South Pole, perhaps," he added and stopped walking for a moment as he looked around. "Here we are," he said as he gestured to a couple of graves that were located in the shadow of few trees.

Somewhere in the distance a train sped by.

They approached the graves slowly, passing by a couple of names that Larry ignored until they settled before one made out of black marble that was just tall enough to tower over Larry. It was simple, rectangular in shape and with elegant engraving that simply claimed:

_Mirzam Miranda Verascez_

_30_ _th_ _September 1959 – 30_ _th_ _July 1980_

_Her candle burned out long before the memory of her ever will._

The words for some reason seemed eerily familiar.

"Goodbye Norma Jean," said Larry, as if he was reading Hermione's thoughts. "Or whatever thatsong was called. She liked to listen to it on rainy evenings. It was the only thing Sirius and Bathsheda could agree…" he stopped abruptly and Hermione assumed that he was once again sized by his own grief.

Not that he didn't have reasons. He buried one friend today and a couple of more over the years and she could only imagine how lonely he had to feel.

Mirzam was twenty-one. Not even that, a couple of months shy of turning twenty-one and her life was snuffed out by a lunatic just because of who she was believed to be and her decision to spend her life with and bear children to a man who after losing her apparently had to lose all of his marbles.

Like a candle in the wind.

A tear trickled down her face and then another. So much pain and misery could have been avoided if she lived. Hermione would have an aunt and someone in whom she could confide the things she feared to tell her parents, and Harry… Harry might still have his parents.

But she didn't live. She died, leaving behind distraught friends and a niece that didn't even know that her aunt existed, and wouldn't have known if Mrs Lambert wasn't convinced that Hermione already left her house when she said the words that changed Hermione's life.

Slowly she sat down in front of her grave and sighed heavily.

Mirzam took her mother's name to the grave with her and Hermione was at loss for what she could do now to find it out. Ask her parents? And what sort of answer would they provide her with? The same one she'd already discovered most likely.

Larry meanwhile approached the grave and started to examine the flower arrangements. Fresh looking flower arrangements she suddenly realised. One of them was an elaborate bouquet arranged around a crimson red rose. It consisted of forget-me-nots, heliotrope, a couple lilies of the valley with a couple of geraniums, sage and rosemary. And as elaborate as it was it looked fairly usual compared to another arrangement that consisted out of purely black flowers in the somewhat familiar shape of lilies, both the normal ones as well as calla lilies.

"What does it mean?" she asked him.

"I'm not sure," said Larry slowly. "What I do know is that there are only a couple of people who would find black lilies an appropriate flower arrangement for the deceased," he added stiffly. "It's something that they, in their morbid sense of humour reserve only for their relatives. Curiously enough all but one of them are supposed to be dead and those that aren't shouldn't be very interested in visiting her grave."

Hermione wiped her cheeks and quickly stood up before she asked, "Whom are you talking about?"

Somewhere behind her a twig snapped. She didn't whirl around to check what caused it to snap but Larry had and he glared at the intruder with quite a lot of ferocity for a man of his stature.

"Me, I'm afraid," said a male voice quite close to her.

That made her whirl around with such speed that she found herself tripping over her own feet and only two hands, one of which grasped her upper right arm and the other that was holding a cane that propped her up kept her from collapsing on the ground. Both hands disappeared as quickly as it became evident that she wasn't going to collapse and the stranger stepped away a bit.

He was a tall, elderly gentleman of a physical stature similar to her own father, lean but not too thin. He was dressed in an impeccable black pinstriped suit with a vest and snowy white shirt underneath it. On the top of his head he had a black fedora that was a bit askew. He seemed to realise that as soon as her eyes fixed on it and quickly, changing hands with quite a speed, the cane that was in his right hand found itself in his left hand and it pushed the hat back to its proper place.

His pale eyes twinkled with mirth and his thin mouth had formed into a tiny smirk before it returned into a more formal thin lipped smile. Then he reached for his hat and tipped it to her, allowing her to see his steel grey hair more clearly. Compelled by Grandma's etiquette lessons she gave him a tiny nod and tried her best to return the smile.

"Lawrence," the stranger turned to Larry.

"Yes, you supposedly deceased lying old coot?" offered Larry with a huff.

"Well, I didn't tell the world to bury me while I was still breathing," offered the stranger lightly.

"Yes, you did not, but you do know the law. Ten years from the last public sighting done by a human, magical being or any other form of activity that would have confirmed continued existence. I had to fend off that demented swan for weeks after you were declared dead and your regalia wasn't coming," said Larry sourly.

"No idea why," said the stranger with a shrug. "I specifically told him that my last will and testament will stand as it stood. It's not my fault that he got himself deluded by Charis's nephew."

"He had a legitimate reason to," Larry pointed out.

"Not legitimate enough for me I'm afraid," replied the stranger curtly.

"Hence the exposure," snorted Larry.

"He reaped what he sowed, Lawrence," answered the stranger. "If I was to suffer the loss of a son to such circumstances then so should he."

"Except he wasn't your son, was he?" said Larry pointedly.

"Considering how his own parents had failed him and how much I saw of him he was as good as," replied the stranger stiffly. "I failed him too, you know," he added after a moment. "I failed both of them and they were the ones that paid the price for my lack of involvement at the point of time when it mattered the most."

"They were both adults and they had chosen their own paths," said Larry simply.

"As did I. Will you judge me for that?" asked the stranger.

"Not that you care about my judgement," muttered Larry.

"I do value your opinions Lawrence, like my brother did," said the stranger softly.

"Your brother has been dead for over thirty years," Larry pointed out. "And I didn't do it for you."

"I know, you obstinate mule," said the stranger dryly.

Larry coughed before he said, "Shall we reserve the name calling for a time when a young and easily impressionable lady isn't present, your highness?"

"Oh, piss off," snorted the stranger. "But as annoying as he can be, he is indeed right. Pardon me, for my truly atrocious manners, Hermione."

"How do you know my name?" whispered Hermione.

The man smiled at her before he answered, "Because I was provided with it by someone whose opinion I came to esteem quite highly. She had done me a favour I could never repay and I readily agreed to act as her emissary should you ever discover her identity and she was unable to provide you with guidance. As it happened today," he gestured with his cane at the grave behind Hermione's back. "Another thing which she left behind were iron clad conditions which had to be reached for such a meeting to occur. I was quite sternly instructed to not seek you out myself, rather allow you to come out here of your own free will. You are truly a glory to your ancestors, Hermione. Only a young woman with an intellect that match theirs would have achieved what you have."

"I had help," whispered Hermione.

"You had a will and those that have it more often than not do have enough determination to find a way. Therefore, I applaud you," replied the man.

"You mentioned my ancestors," said Hermione slowly. "What can you tell me about them?"

"Nothing I'm afraid," sighed the man heavily.

"Balderdash," snorted Larry from behind her back.

"I'm not exactly talking to you, Lawrence," replied the man.

"You either know or you don't, stop beating around the bush, Arcturus," said Larry sourly.

"I do know your ancestors, Hermione," sighed the man, Arcturus Black, a supposed dead man. "I knew your aunt. The poor thing had the misfortune of bearing a very strong resemblance to her own aunt who in her school years was a dear friend of my wife. Because I knew that I knew who fathered her even though she lived and died under a different name. Unfortunately there's a pesky little charm that prevents me from revealing it to you. Without a doubt a precaution undertaken by your mother in an attempt to ensure that you would never discover her identity. What she had failed to take under consideration was her sister's determination into ensuring that you had an access to that possibility. Hence my presence here on this fine sunny day."

"Why would she do that?" whispered Hermione.

"Which one of them are you asking about?" questioned Arcturus curiously.

"Either, both," answered Hermione quickly.

"Mi.." started Arcturus and coughed. "Your aunt," he started again, "had a very strongly developed protective instinct and tendencies, something that sadly led to her eventual, premature death. For those she cared for her loyalty and dedication knew no bounds. One naturally had to earn it because as devoted as she could be she was not stupid. Your mother was one of those people who won her loyalty even though they didn't always agree on certain subjects. Your…" he paused as if he was looking for a word, "surrender was one of them, particularly in the light of the continued detainment of your mother's parental rights to your sister. That didn't sit well with your aunt. She was quite vehemently convinced that you shouldn't have been separated and you should have been either detained or surrendered together."

"I have a sister," whispered Hermione. "What's her name?" she asked quickly.

Arcturus grimaced.

"You cannot tell me," realised Hermione. "How does it work?" she asked after a moment.

"Annoyingly well, I'm afraid," admitted Arcturus with a slight grimace. "To the point of an inability to scold your mother for her continued lack of contact with you. But then again I could hardly expect any less of the daughter of a woman that bore with determination and perseverance anything that life threw at her, and sadly it was quite a lot. Her daughter could hardly be any different than the woman that raised her."

"So she is alive," whispered Hermione.

"And faring relatively well, and that's the extent of what I can reveal to you," confirmed Arcturus. "She lives, that's all that matters."

"What prevents you from revealing more?" asked Hermione.

"A pesky little charm, like I said," replied Arcturus. "I'm sure that your mother believed herself to be quite thorough in casting it. But she had failed to factor in your aunt's determination into allowing you access to that information, as a failsafe. Even though she was the one who vetted your parents prior to your surrender she didn't feel particularly comfortable with surrendering you to people who had no ties to the world you were eventually going to belong in."

"She was Muggle raised for Merlin's sake," protested Larry.

"And therefore the harshest critique of such practices like handing a definitely magical child to people that don't have an ounce of magic in them. And you were born with magic so strong that prior to your surrender to your Muggle guardians your magic had to be bound by your aunt during the naming ritual. It was her most unfortunate demise that released you from that bond," explained Arcturus. "Had your mother been a little less thorough in her casting, per your aunt's request upon her death you would immediately acquire the status as a ward of the Black family like…" he paused, appearing to be choking on words. "Damn that witch."

"Maybe it was for the better," commented Larry.

"Maybe, maybe not," said Arcturus with a shrug. "What matters is that now I have the freedom to direct you just like your aunt would have done if she had lived. Should you choose so, obviously."

"Why would I choose not to?" asked Hermione quickly.

"That depends on a lot of factors," answered Arcturus simply. "One of which is the most important question of all. Are you truly certain that you wish to know of your ancestors?" he asked.

"Would I come this far if I didn't?" asked Hermione simply.

"A typical Gryffindor answer," sighed Arcturus. "And as glorified as that house is, it and the reasoning of its members have certain flaws. They often fail to take into account the consequences. So let me ask you again, are you certain that you wish to know to know about your ancestors, knowing that finding out the truth will have real life consequences?"

"Such as?" asked Hermione a little uncertain.

"The loss of your identity?" offered Arcturus. "The loss of those you call your parents as your guardians? Possibly even contact with them?" he added. "I'm unsure about your mother but your father…" he grimaced. "I would be wary of how he would handle such a surprise and what he will do with that information."

"My father was unknown," whispered Hermione.

"Only to those who didn't wish to know. Your mother didn't, not that I blame her. She chose not to know him. Your aunt on the other hand," he paused for a moment, "she had beef to settle with him that involved a quite severe hexing and dragging his scrawny arse to Azkaban for a couple of years. And that was for your sister alone. I'm certain that the urge to make an example out of him only increased as you grew in your mother's womb."

"We have the same father?" asked Hermione softly.

"Unfortunately so," confirmed Arcturus. "And unfortunately looks are something which you have taken from your…" he choked on words again. "Bloody hell," he coughed.

"Mother," finished Hermione for him.

"Yes, that was exactly what I was planning to say," said Arcturus. "Good for your appearance which I'm sure as you grow older will be aesthetically pleasing at the very least but bad for our quest. It would have been far easier to take you to Diagon Alley to play point out to me the person who looks the most like you game than going on a treasure hunt."

"Treasure hunt?" asked Hermione sceptically

"Seems like it," answered Arcturus with a shrug. "But then again I'm old and not as active as I once was. And I'm not exactly fond of the French or confident in their abilities."

"French?" asked Hermione. "Are my ancestors French?"

"Hard to tell," answered Arcturus simply. "Most of our kind have some French ancestors, most unfortunate side effect of the short distance between France and England and their uncanny ability to convince multiple nations that French is chic," he snorted. "Bloody confusing that's what it is. It and their ability to always come out on top in spite of being cowardly, cheese consuming, capitulating chimpanzees."

"You're fluent in French," snorted Larry. "I heard you."

"And because I'm fluent in it therefore I have the right to judge it," replied Arcturus. "I like German better. It's an orderly language even though as a nation they possess an uncanny ability to produce dangerous maniacs with illusion of grandeur. Excellent beer, far better than the piss the French market as wine."

"And he's off," muttered Larry. "Can't get him to shut up once he starts talking about French wines."

"There's nothing wrong with a truly good wine. I'm just saying that I have yet to meet a French wine that doesn't taste like piss," said Arcturus.

"And how do you know what piss tastes like?" asked Larry pointedly.

"I had horrible year mates," replied Arcturus. "I lost a bet and had to drink a bucket of it, tasted like French wine."

"Then I pity the state of your wine cellar," snorted Larry.

"I have an excellently stocked wine cellar, just not with French wines," said Arcturus with a shrug. "And if I were you I would stay away from that fish soup of theirs, never eaten one and not been sick afterwards," he added as he turned towards Hermione. "They don't call it soupe de poisson for nothing."

"Doesn't poisson stand for a fish?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"It also stands for a pimp so there's that," replied Arcturus. "So have you considered your answer carefully?"

The instinctual answer that nearly immediately flew out of her mouth was yes. But just as she opened her mouth to say it she hesitated. To certain degree Arcturus had a point, and she only saw the end goal which was finding out the identity of her mother. But she wasn't the only part of the equation, was she? As unknown as her father was to her mother it didn't seem that he was equally unknown to her aunt. How that was possible she had no idea. Maybe her sister looked more like her father than she did. But how did Mirzam know who it was? Because what kind of a man he was, was heavily implied. Rapist, possibly Voldemort's supporter, not someone she wished to know by name let alone rely on his whims. And then there were her parents and the illegality of the adoption. Her mother wanted nothing to do with her, if the surrender of parental rights wasn't enough the curse that prevented Arcturus and other people from mentioning her by name was clear enough. What would her father do if, or when he finds out about her?

She swallowed.

She wanted to know the truth, to know her roots, her ancestors, her sister and at the same time she didn't want to lose her parents. Sure, they lied to her but to be fair so did she. They were all practiced liars and lied by omission.

"Give it some time," said Arcturus finally. "Think it over, try to weigh every outcome."

"And what will you do?" asked Hermione quickly.

"What I've been doing for the past thirteen years," he replied. "Wait. Time is something that I can spare," he added. "I'm one of those lucky sods that has passed through the usual diseases that kill people my age when I was younger and they were more inconvenient to me than dangerous. I lead a healthy if solitary life and I don't have many vices that could shorten my lifespan considerably. Whatever you decide, whenever you decide, I will most likely be there to guide you. Be it tomorrow or thirty years from now."

"How can I reach you?" she asked.

"You cannot," he replied simply. "But I will know when you're ready."

"How?" she asked sceptically.

He gave her a small, quirked smile before he said, "I'll just know."

"Who do you have on her?" asked Larry sharply.

"No one you know," replied Arcturus dryly.

"So you've been spying on me," stated Hermione.

"Spying is such a plebeian word," said Arcturus with a shrug. "I like observing from a considerable distance better than spying. The only thing I wished to know was whetever or not your needs were taken care of and that you had been treated well. They weren't supposed to interfere with your family life or alert anyone to their presence. Not that it was continuous, just periodical, a couple days in a year."

Hermione narrowed he eyes and glared at him.

"Now, that's a look I'm familiar with," said Arcturus dryly. "And my cue to leave," he added before he turned to Larry. "If you wish to berate me away from the earshot of a young and easily impressionable lady I'll be taking my dinner in the pub at the village around sunset. See you," with that he disapparated.

Hermione looked at Larry and asked, "Will you met him there?"

"Of course I will," replied Larry with a huff. "As soon as I ensure that you return home safely. I don't trust him."

"Why?" asked Hermione quickly.

"Because I know him, my dear. He's a Slytherin and a Slytherin never does something from which they have nothing to gain," replied Larry stiffly.

"You're a Slytherin," pointed out Hermione. "So was Elsie and his younger brother. You called him the best man you ever knew."

"Because I knew him," admitted Larry. "I never knew his brother as well as I knew him. I never knew that Mirzam knew him. She never said and I highly doubt that Sirius knew that."

"Did Sirius know that you knew his relatives?" asked Hermione pointedly.

"I first met Sirius as a young man estranged from the entire family after I already heard from his grandparents that even though the biggest point of conflict was between him and his parents he decided to cut all family ties. He point blank refused any form of support, financial and otherwise from all relatives, with the exception of Alphard. And the only reason why he accepted it from Alphard was because he died," replied Larry grimly. "The reveal of that connection was left to my discretion and at the time I chose not to reveal it. I shared nothing with them which they wouldn't be able to find another way. They didn't ask about him."

"Why not?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Initially I thought that Arcturus was planning to wait out his rebel phase but had failed to factor in how much he and Sirius were alike," said Larry with a heavy sigh.

"Stubborn to the point of obstinacy?" offered Hermione.

"To begin with," snorted Larry.

"He wants something from me," she sighed.

"Yes," confirmed Larry. "And that's what I'm intending to find out."

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** A pleasant day turns into a nasty evening.


	11. 7th July 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant day turns into a nasty evening. Also, Hermione gets a surprise visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 6 500.
> 
> **The story updates on Tuesday and Thursday.**
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen**

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter eleven: 7** **th** **July 1993**

_7_ _th_ _July 1993, 34 Willoughby Road, Hampstead, London_

It all started the day prior when in an attempt to take her mind of everything she'd learned earlier in the day, she managed to successfully convince her Mum to visit a hairdresser. She wasn't preoccupied enough with her own thoughts to not miss the grimace that appeared on her Dad's face when Mum agreed that they definitely should visit a hairdresser before leaving for the holidays. Because hairdresser meant Delilah, and Delilah, and Mum's loyalty to her services was always a point of conflict in their marriage.

As a child of considerable curiosity and quite vivid imagination when it came to coming up with best/worst case scenarios, for a couple of years she assumed that Dad's distrust towards Delilah stemmed from her flirtatious nature. Delilah was a charmer, everybody knew that, she flirted with all the clients regardless of their gender, but no more than was inappropriate for Hermione to hear. She had this way of making people feel good about themselves while sorting out their hair.

However, It took science lessons for Hermione to solidify a particular observation on Delilah's physique. Delilah was a stout woman of quite considerable height, with fairly wide shoulders, a deep and soft voice, quite well developed Adam's apple and no waist line or breasts to speak of. She also wore high-heels in an absurdly big size, not to mention she wore flashy clothes and quite strong make up.

Whetever she had always been Delilah, or if that was a name she chose herself at a later point in life, Hermione didn't know, nor did she dare to ask. Not that it really mattered, Delilah was Delilah. She hummed along to that Queen song while she tidied up her salon and had an infinite patience with Hermione's hair. She joked with Hermione and quizzed her about her interests while avoiding conversation stopping hurdles with the ease of a seasoned politician (according to Mum).

Delilah was the only person Mum trusted to do her hair, according to Mum, since always. How they met she never asked but their relationship was excellent and Delilah never failed to find a last minute opening for Mum or Hermione, even though she was fairly popular due to the location of her salon.

This time was no different. Mum's evening call to Delilah had found them seated with Delilah's manicurist as soon as the salon's door opened, meanwhile Delilah and her employee, Jessica took care of their officially scheduled clients. Seeing that they were men they were dealt quickly with Delilah's usual charm and efficiency.

In a break between one scheduled client and the other, Mum headed off with Jessica into the side room for trimming her eyebrows and henna for eyelashes while Delilah seated Hermione in the hairdressing chair.

"So what are we doing today, my dear," asked Delilah. "Braids?" she suggested with a playful smile.

It was only her demeanour that stopped Hermione from groaning at the memory of that disaster.

"Deli, we both remember what happened the last time we tried that," she replied quickly. "Despite your best efforts they started untangling within a week, and when we got rid of them I looked like a baby lion with an overgrown mane."

"Yeah, I do remember," replied Delilah with a small smile. "You looked quite ferocious."

"I looked ridiculous," snorted Hermione.

"So what do you want?" asked Delilah curiously.

"To lose weight," replied Hermione briskly.

"All of it?" she received in return.

She frowned and looked at her reflection critically.

"No," she said finally. "A lot, but I still want to have enough hair left to be able to tie it up if necessary. I don't want a straight cut…"

"Told you that it was a mistake," interjected Delilah. "It looked fine as long as the straightening lasted but you had no patience for it."

"And we're allowing my fringe to grow out," added Hermione.

"Oh, thank God," said Delilah with a smile. "Told you that not all styles suit all people. In your case a fringe looks good on short hair. Who inspired you if I can ask?"

"Why?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Because I want to kiss them," replied Delilah playfully.

"Shopping assistant," answered Hermione. "She convinced me into an outrageous purchase but it was so beautiful…"

"And she made you feel so good about yourself," finished Delilah dryly. "She was right though. You're a beautiful young girl and you will grow up into a beautiful young woman. That beauty needs to be emphasised not hidden away."

"I go to a boarding school," pointed out Hermione. "With a pretty stiff dress code."

"I'm not trying to convince you to run around in fishnets and crop tops. Especially not up there, God knows, if you did you would probably catch pneumonia. There's a lot which one can do with their natural beauty," she added as she fiddled with Hermione's hair. "How about shoulder-length?" she asked. "We will give you a nice diamond-shaped cut in the back. It will be long enough for a braid which I know you like."

"Let's do it," replied Hermione with a smile.

"Well, buckle up. I'll go fetch the scissors and check up on your mum," replied Delilah.

It was a great day. An awesome day. The morning with Delilah, which left Hermione practically floating in the air, had concluded in a truly delightful early lunch that consisted of a superb steamed chicken fillet with vegetables. She consumed her portion without even a hint of nausea.

Afterwards she and Mum went shopping. Hermione tried to protest, claiming that she hadn't have a chance to outgrow most of her clothes but Mum insisted. As unclear as their holidays plans had been, at some point they were going to end up on the French Riviera, and apparently when one goes to the French Riviera one needs to be dressed well.

Not that Hermione minded the shopping trip in the end. She wasn't very big on shopping herself but she adored watching Mum try on clothes. She had an impeccable taste and a great figure for her age. Who needed someone who didn't want them when Mum was there, laughing at a truly outrageous summer dress. Yes, she'd lied, as had Dad, but in their own way they were looking out for her in the way they decided was best.

Hermione's biological mother on the other hand? Went against the wishes of her sister, hid her true identity behind an elaborate curse, decided that one child of her rapist she could raise but not the other.

And her father? Even the thought of him, despite not knowing his identity, made her uneasy. He could have changed but people hardly do. He was still a rapist and most likely Voldemort's supporter. Likely a pureblood who viewed people like Hermione as a piece of dirt at the sole of his shoes.

But then there was Mirzam, a loyal and fiercely protective aunt that was against the idea of surrendering parental rights. Determined in ensuring that Hermione had some sort of magical guardian even if it was supposed to be a supposedly deceased head of a pureblood family.

It puzzled her and to a certain degree worried her. Arcturus knew the truth, couldn't say it out loud but most certainly knew the truth. Who was she, who were her biological parents that caused him to assume the position Mirzam had vacated and followed her instructions. Who was Mirzam to him? What had she done for him to secure his obedience in following her instructions?

Those questions had plagued Hermione through the entire ride home and she found herself wanting to learn more. Maybe not exactly about her parents but definitely about Mirzam. For that she didn't exactly need Arcturus. Larry on the other hand…

And because all good things come to pass eventually the good mood petered at dinner, for which Dad arrived late and in a peculiar mood. At first Hermione assumed that it was due to surprise overwork, after all Mum planned to work today before Hermione mentioned a trip to the hairdresser. Some of the patients could have their appointments rearranged, Mum primarily worked with kids when she wasn't handling administration so it wasn't much of a big deal. Usually.

Dad made no comments about the changed hairdos even though Mum's looked very flattering and youthful, and Hermione loved hers more than she liked her previous one. Between one bite and another at some point he muttered that he made arrangements for a caravan for next Friday, and he expressed his hope that Mum wouldn't desert him again. Mum ignored the remark about desertion and asked when he was planning for them to leave.

It was an innocent question that gained her a remark that he'd already told her that he rented the caravan from next Friday. Mum shot back that she heard him quite well and that she wanted to know whether or not they were going to leave the country on Friday or Saturday. The rest of the argument had escalated from that. Mum brought up cleaning the caravan after previous users, Dad brought up an apparently truly outrageous additional fee that he already paid for cleaning. Then came passive-aggressive cleaning after dinner during which Dad saw the shopping bags and finally that led to…

"If we can afford all of that then surely we can afford paying other people than freaks to cut our hair!" snarled Dad.

Hermione's blood ran cold and her heart dropped to her stomach.

"Mark Wendell Granger," hissed Mum angrily.

"So," started Hermione in a soft, even voice, "what you're saying is that everybody who doesn't fit into your criteria of normality deserves that designation?" she paused. "You're saying that it doesn't matter that Delilah is a good employer and one of the pillars of the community, that it doesn't matter that she opens her saloon on Sunday after church for homeless people to cut their hair free of charge because in your book to deserve the opinion of a decent human being one needs to fit into your narrow criteria of normality and she will never do that all because she had a misfortune of being born in a wrong body?" she asked icily.

"Hermione Jean Granger…" started Dad.

"What about me?" hissed Hermione in barely contained fury. "Am I a freak to you, father mine?" she spat.

"Of course not, Hermione," Mum hurried to calm her down. "You're.."

"Mum, I wasn't asking you," Hermione interrupted her icily. "I was asking Mr Normal," she added as she glared at Dad. "So?" she added. "Out with it. Am I a freak or not?"

Dad stayed silent.

"Mark!" gasped out Mum.

Dad worried his bottom lip before he said slowly, "If you truly wish to know…"

"Mark!" hissed Mum angrily.

"Well, she asked," muttered Dad and he shrugged. "You weren't supposed to be like that," he added with a heavy sigh. "You were supposed to be normal."

"I am normal," snarled Hermione. "I don't have a second head. I'm still the same person I was nearly fourteen years ago. The only thing I did was grow up."

"You know what I'm talking about," grunted Dad.

"No, I don't," spat Hermione. "I was showing signs of magic from infancy."

"Children often do," growled Dad. "Most of them are sensitive to peculiar things and possess sometimes absurd reflexes. They grow out of it eventually."

"And I didn't," Hermione growled back. "Magic is a genetic trait, it's decided in the moment of conception. I always was like that and I will always be like that. I won't change, I won't decide to stop being a witch."

"Well, there are ways…" started Dad.

"Don't you dare!" snarled Mum, interrupting him mid-sentence. "Finish that sentence Mark Granger and you will lose both a daughter and a wife."

Dad closed his mouth, very slowly.

Hermione clamped her upper teeth over her bottom lip to keep herself from saying something she was most likely going to regret.

She knew what Dad was talking about. It was an alternative that Mum dismissed right away and when Professor McGonagall brought it up he grunted something about wanting the best for Hermione but at the time Hermione was a bit too preoccupied to pay attention to him. Evidently she should have.

Her stomach twisted itself in knots, making her feel nauseous. She didn't even want to hear about it back then. The idea of having one's magic bound and the memory of all of their magical incidents erased was too preposterous to consider.

But Dad was considering it. Still. Even three years into her magical schooling.

"He won't dare," said Hermione slowly, in a tone that sounded strange to her own ears. "Not because he will then lose his wife and daughter but because it will be the last decision that he will ever make."

"Are you threatening me?" hissed Dad angrily.

"Yes," replied Hermione in that same, even, icily cold voice. "I'm threatening you, father mine. Arrange the meeting and start counting the last hours of your life. And hope that I will show you more mercy in taking away your life than you will in taking away mine. Because that's how it's going to end. I won't let them take away my magic and my memories, I will kill myself first and I will take you down with me."

"Go to your room," snarled Dad lividly. "And don't come out until you're ready to apologise."

"Or what?" asked Hermione, still in that same tone. "You will spank me? I don't think so. Magic can be quite unpredictable while protecting a magical child from harm. And even if I'd done something truly outrageous I have a clean record. The worst that can happen will be a visit from the Ministry. I'm sure that they would love to hear about what lead to that incident."

She saw it coming, she really did but part of her was too rooted to the spot to move away, too surprised that Dad, caring and loving Dad would descend to that level.

The open-handed slap against her left cheek was both cold and hot and the force of it was strong enough for her to lose balance. On her way down she collided with a sideboard and blacked out for a moment. Not for long, and not completely judging by the sounds of commotion, Mum screaming something incomprehensible at Dad.

And suddenly everything fell silent and very, very still.

Hermione blinked slowly, letting her vision clear from the black dancing spots before her eyes to find an outstretched hand in the centre of her vision. She blinked again, taking in the rest of the arm that was turned to her. It looked nothing like the clothes that Mum or Dad wore, all black and billowy. But the hand was there and outstretched in an inviting gesture so she grasped it. As soon as she had long fingers closed over her palm and she found herself being pulled upright and into the folds of the heavy cloak, pressed from head to ankles against someone's body. The cloak smelt faintly of tobacco, wind and cloves.

Snape?

For some reason the cantankerous Potions Professor was the first person that came to her mind. Not that she ever managed to come closer than an arm's length to the man or even wished to get close enough to smell him. But the blackness and billowiness of the cloak quite strongly reminded her of Snape. As did the leanness of the man's body.

She took a couple of steadying breaths and looked upright readying herself mentally for the possible remarks she might receive if indeed the mysterious visitor was Snape. But as soon as her eyes focused on the man's face she knew that it wasn't him. Which was a relief. What wasn't was the menacing, thin-lipped expression of bared teeth, narrowed eyes and outstretched right hand that was holding a wand. Her eyes attempted to follow it only for the cloak to obscure her view again.

"Don't look," was whispered into her hair.

"What are you doing?" she whispered back.

"Nothing that will cause them any lasting harm," she received in reply.

"I'll be blamed for it," she muttered.

"No, you won't," came a reply. "We're taking this conversation out of this room," followed it.

Arcturus turned over his heel to the right, pulling Hermione with him and led her out of the kitchen, through the hall and into the study. He sat her down in the chair at the desk and leaned against it as he bent down to examine her face.

His expression still remained thunderous. His lips were drawn in a thin, tight-lipped line but the concern in his pale eyes seemed genuine enough for Hermione to sag a little against the back of the chair. His left hand continued to roam over the right side of her head while right held her gently under her chin. After a moment his fingers felt something and she felt a tingle of magic in the area.

Satisfied with that he switched hands, holding her chin with his left while in his right hand a wand appeared again and started shining light into her eyes. She closed them with a grimace.

"Let me," he said softly. "I just want to make sure that you didn't suffer any brain damage."

"A terrible loss it would have been," muttered Hermione.

"I agree," he replied. "The nerve of that worm," he spat.

"I provoked him," mumbled Hermione.

"I don't care what you said to him. He's an adult, the head of a family and the man of the house. A man that descends to physical violence against their child is a worm, not a man," retorted Arcturus. "Not that corporal punishment isn't necessary in certain cases but at your age there are far more appropriate ways of punishing a child without showing weakness of character."

"And at what age is corporal punishment necessary?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"I was always a firm believer that those that cannot take other people's warnings to heart that the fire indeed is hot deserve getting burned," replied Arcturus. "That said, both as a father and grandfather I found myself in circumstances when the miscreant flirted very closely with danger with no regard for their life or their health. Hence my father's holly seven slaps on the posterior for remembrance. Although in my case I once gained holly twenty-one and quite rightfully so. Never however, were such punishment administrated to a child past their eleventh birthday, and in most cases never past their seventh one. At that age you can reason with them quite well and punish them in a way that doesn't betray your weakness," he added as he lowered his wand and let go of her chin.

"Doesn't change the fact that I still provoked him," huffed Hermione. "And speaking of provoking…"

"I'm aware that you're worried about the repercussions from the Ministry but you really have nothing to worry about," Arcturus interrupted her. "I have immense faith in your mother's handiwork, and even if I didn't I have faith in…"

"Wait, my mother did something to this house?" Hermione interrupted him in turn. "How do you know that? What did she do?"

"Warded the house and entire premises more securely than Gringotts wards their vaults, and they take their wards very seriously," answered Arcturus.

"But why?" asked Hermione. "She gave me up."

"She gave you up, but just because she chose not to raise you it doesn't mean that she wishes you ill," replied Arcturus with a shrug. "It's an impressive handiwork, my dear, not that I would expect anything less from her. I just tweaked it a bit to allow myself a pass through, should you ever need me. I doubt that she would have noticed without dismantling the entire thing, highly unlikely to happen. She added a couple of things as the years passed, one of them is a pretty nifty ward that can be found around many pureblood households that obscures the magic done within its perimeter. The only magic it wouldn't be able to contain would be one that would level the whole thing down."

Hermione gaped at him.

"So what have you done to them?" she asked finally.

"Like I said, nothing that will cause any lasting harm," replied Arcturus. "My ancestors referred to it as Robbers Confusor. It's a variation of a confusing charm that confuses anyone but the caster into staring at a light orb. Confusion is intent based so everything one experiences while under it depends on the caster. It's not exactly light but it isn't dark magic strictly speaking. I wanted to exclude your mother from the conversation without causing her any lasting harm, had you been in the room only with your father I wouldn't be this considerate. Right now they are in a hazy, dreamlike state that will continue for as long as the orb is somewhere in their field of vision. Due to the compelling component of the charm, and easiness with which it can be maintained from a distance, it is highly unlikely that they will take their eyes from it."

"Wow," mumbled Hermione. "Is it widely taught?"

"Luckily no," replied Arcturus dryly. "It is a family invention and one of many magical secrets we still maintain. Not all people have a talent for it as mastering it requires a considerable effort and balancing of many components. My daughter had a flair for it, poor thing, used to cast it on us when we caught her sneaking out to meet her beau. My son or grandsons never mastered it, Orion had no talent, Sirius no patience and Regulus could never balance it."

"It's quite interesting," admitted Hermione. "You're really maintaining it while talking with me?"

"I'm a man of considerable power and disciplined mind. I was primed into multitasking my magic from an early age. The duties as the Heir of the Head of the family required that of me," explained Arcturus. "Gets easier with age, particularly after reaching magical maturity. Now explain to me the circumstances which lead to my visit."

So she did. Relaying the arguments word for word, and not just the words but her feelings and her behaviour.

"Most curious," muttered Arcturus when she finally finished.

"My outburst?" asked Hermione.

"Pray tell, have you started your courses?" asked Arcturus pensively.

"My what?" mumbled Hermione.

"Courses," repeated Arcturus. "Period? Menstruation?" he added after a moment when Hermione simply blinked at him owlishly.

"Yes, a couple days ago," she admitted finally. "But it's over now."

"Doesn't matter," said Arcturus as he shook his head. "What matters is that you bleed, both blood and magic and what's most important is that the blood that you bleed isn't just your own."

Hermione stared at him, mouth agape.

"What do you know about godparents?" asked Arcturus.

"That they name children with their blood," replied Hermione, she remembered that.

"Strictly speaking what they do is mark them with their blood as they name them," corrected her Arcturus. "Blood magic is a very fascinating subject, murky to simpletons but quite gratifying for those that approach it with respect. You were named in name and blood and not just by anyone but one of your closest blood relations. And because I know the circumstances in which it happened I can tell you that in the moment it happened you also had your mother's blood on you."

Hermione cringed and grimaced.

"Don't give me that look," Arcturus chastised her lightly. "Such is the nature of birth, pain, blood and a lot of icky slime. That hasn't changed for millennia and it's highly unlikely that it ever will. You have your own blood coursing through your veins, but at the same time you're of someone else's blood. The blood of your ancestors gives you life but it can also take it away. There are many dark curses that affect blood."

"Maledictions," nodded Hermione.

"Yes," agreed Arcturus. "They're the cancer of the wizarding world and secrets kept quite close to one's chest. Many innocent people have lost their lives just because one of their ancestors pissed off the wrong idiot centuries prior. But we're getting a bit off track. Blood is important to wizards."

"To the point of being the symbol of status," muttered Hermione.

"Merlin," sighed Arcturus and he shook his head. "Deja entendu," he muttered as he shook his head again.

"Already heard?" guessed Hermione. "My Aunt?" she asked.

"Who else?" asked Arcturus simply. "Blood magic was a subject she could talk about for hours. Though strictly speaking, I was doing the talking while she was making notes. Not literally, like I said, she wasn't stupid. The godparent's rite was something that fascinated her most of all."

"Why?" asked Hermione.

"Because the act of appointing a godparent or godparents is an act of surrender. The act of acknowledging one's mortality by appointing a guardian for the child and surrendering to them the right to name the child, to raise the child when the parents aren't able to do so. It rarely occurs outside of one's family, unless one has no blood family to speak of and friends is the only family they have," explained Arcturus.

"But why?" asked Hermione.

"Because of what it means for the godparent and godchild," said Arcturus. "The act of naming the child requires the surrender of one's blood, no more than a couple of drops, nobody bleeds copiously over the child unless they need to, but that rarely happens, and that's a story for a different time."

"Why?" pressed Hermione.

"My, my, aren't you curious?" chuckled Arcturus, and when Hermione narrowed her eyes at him he added. "The rite was most commonly used in times when the mortality rate was quite high. In adult wizards as well as infants. So, in an attempt to ensure a continued bloodline, in some cases the survival of the firstborn along with naming the child received a form of magical transfusion, a blood replenishing potion that was produced from willingly surrendered blood of the godparent or godparents. In some cases it was the tiny boost of power and protection that ensured the continuation of the bloodline."

"Then why is it rarely used?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"The capriciousness of the magic itself," explained Arcturus. "You see, the act of naming is an act of giving power to something. Metaphorically obviously. Surrender of blood however is a literal transference of power and everything that blood stands for. The wording changes from family to family and from person to person, but whether or not godparents simply accept their godchild as their ward, like most people do, the rite itself creates a blood link between the godparent and godchild. Depending on the godparent it can either be residual or as strong as that of a parent."

"You mean, a form of adoption through blood," whispered Hermione.

"Partial, there is still a separate rite for blood adoption. I'm uncertain what wording your aunt used. She never said and I never pressed, but judging by her extreme unwillingness to surrender you I'm hazarding a guess that the link she created was a strong one," said Arcturus slowly. "Not as strong as that of a parent, it would have been counterproductive with the surrender of parental rights, but strong enough to ensure a transference of power. She was a skilled witch and quite well oriented in protective spell work, then there was her ancestry and although I cannot reveal much I can tell you that her ancestors were well versed in protective magic. The limit of the protection that she bestowed on you was in her imagination."

"But how does it relate to my…" started Hermione and grimaced.

"I'm getting there," said Arcturus quickly. "You found yourself in a situation where your magic felt threatened. In some cases the magic lashes out to protect itself from harm but in some cases…" he grimaced. "My guess is that your own magic recognised that you found yourself in a dire situation where it was threatened by someone you didn't wish to harm and instead of lashing out it tapped to the reserves of magic that your aunt transferred to you in the naming ritual."

"And by tapping into her magic I tapped…" whispered Hermione.

"Into an echo of your aunt's personality," finished Arcturus. "Like I already said your aunt was fiercely loyal and protective of people she cared for. Threats to her person she took with a raised eyebrow but threats to people she cared for…" he grimaced. "Most of the time she was a kind and respectful individual that went out of her way to help anyone that asked for her help but…" he shook his head and smirked.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"That's a story for a different time," he said quickly. "You have some thinking to do after all and I really don't want to distract you."

"What I'm supposed to think about?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Like what you want to do with this perhaps?" asked Arcturus as he gestured towards the kitchen. "I know what I would do."

"And you're giving me a choice?" asked Hermione suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because you started your courses," said Arcturus simply. "There are many points of maturity in wizarding world and they all come at different point of a witch or wizard's life. Full legal maturity occurs on the day of your seventeenth birthday, but the point of limited legal maturity arrives with the first signs of sexual maturity. By that point you can legally marry even though underage marriages are finally something that's frowned upon. Similarly at this point you receive a right to choose your guardians. That's why against all my instincts I'm waiting for your decision rather than following your aunt's request to the letter."

"So if I say, take me away from here…" muttered Hermione.

"Then I will do so in a heartbeat," replied Arcturus.

"And what will happen to my parents?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"There are a couple of options depending on what you want to happen," he answered pensively. "The adoption is illegal by both Muggle and wizarding standards. The Muggle adoption of wizarding children, unless they're blood relatives is in the wizarding world considered as bordering on the edge of illegality unless they can prove no ill will, but only if they went through proper channels."

"And my parents didn't," sighed Hermione. "Why?"

"Criminal record," said Arcturus with a shrug.

"What?" she gasped. "What sort of criminal record?"

"Your father," replied Arcturus sourly. "Sins of youth I'm afraid. Only child of quite wealthy parents. Probably wanted to be edgy and hung around the wrong crowd. Alcohol, illegal substances, a little battery here and there. Got caught and sent to juvenile detention. Sorted himself out and while the records got sealed…" he grimaced. "Then there's the fact that their marriage was mixed and even though their life as a couple was nothing short of exemplary by the time they got you they had been denied thrice the possibility of adopting a child through official channels. Granted each case was denied for a different reason connected to a specific child in question. Then there was their individual inability to produce a biological child."

"How do you know that?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Because your aunt did," he replied simply. "She had a file on them, everything I know came from it. Your mother in her youth had a botched up abortion that rendered her unable to carry another child."

"Why would she do that?" she whispered.

"Not exactly my place or my story," said Arcturus with a grimace.

"Oh, come on," snorted Hermione. "It's Mum, she always loved children…."

"Similar circumstances to that of your biological mother," said Arcturus with a heavy sigh. "At a much younger age than your biological mother had been. About the same age as you are now," he added grimly. "Had it been performed by someone who knew what they were doing it wouldn't hinder her ability to carry another child in the future. As things stood it nearly bloody killed her. An emergency partial hysterectomy saved her life but hindered her ability to carry children which was proved by a second trimester miscarriage which she had in her twenties. In ended in complete hysterectomy that rendered her barren."

"You read her medical file," whispered Hermione.

"As did your aunt," said Arcturus with a shrug. "Your father's too. In his case it was a case of mumps that rendered him infertile. It came out a couple of years later when they tried to arrange a surrogate, so that avenue was also closed for them. Your aunt had found them at wits end on how to proceed from there. Their only option was a specified surrender of parental rights to them done by a biological mother."

"And she exploited it," said Hermione.

"They were forty years old Hermione, they failed with proper channels and took only your mother's word for granted. They deliberately chose not to see your aunt's reluctance to let you go. Luckily for them your grandmother had seen through that and not only offered her an option to name you, but also assured her that if she chose so, your contact with her wouldn't be hindered. At the very least by your grandmother," explained Arcturus. "If she hadn't been there, or if she'd considered your mother's decision as final, odds are that against her sister's wishes your aunt would have taken you away and claimed you as her ward with no consideration to everything she had done to ensure the transfer of rights to your parents."

"Why would she do that?" whispered Hermione.

"Distrust," sighed Arcturus. "Not to your parents specifically but towards the system. But that's a story for a different time. Let's go back to your options. Due to the illegality of your adoption going through official channels will ensure the immediate involvement of wizarding authorities. Best case scenario…" he grimaced. "Your adoption will be declared illegal and you will be removed from their care permanently with no possibility of return. Your parents and the rest of their family will get their memories modified and you will be put through a claiming process. That's three months of waiting for your biological parents to claim you. Risky option, and what would follow is even riskier, for you as well as for me. I will of course apply for your guardianship, and I have enough claim to win it, but I'm not exactly sure that it's the best option for either of us. Then there's the worst case scenario where your parents are put on trial in the wizarding world, and you really want to avoid that. A determined prosecutor can spin a tale of kidnapping or even human trafficking, and all of us will end up in a tight spot. Your parents possibly in the worst of all."

"And if we want to avoid that?" asked Hermione.

"Then your options are limited to joint custody shared between me and your parents," he explained. "Then there's complete transference of custody with or without the use of memory modifying charms. Or for everything to remain as it's now, with a minor adjustment of my involvement but in position of an advisor but not a deciding party."

"All of these require them to know that I know," muttered Hermione.

"And you don't want that?" asked Arcturus sceptically. "Why not?"

"Because they lied to me," she muttered grimly.

Arcturus snorted before he asked, "And can you say with a clear conscience that you never lied to them?"

Hermione grimaced and shuffled in the chair before she muttered, "It's different."

"How?" asked Arcturus curiously.

"Because they're paranoid and overprotective and if I kept them appraised of everything that's going in my life at best they would remove me from Hogwarts, and at worst…" she couldn't even finish the sentence. "I don't want that. I don't want to lose my friends, I don't want to leave Hogwarts, I want to be a witch. I don't want them to know that I know until I know what my options are."

"A truly Slytherin approach," said Arcturus dryly.

"Isn't that most logical?" asked Hermione sceptically. "How can I make an informed decision that might possibly affect the rest of my life if I don't know between what I'm choosing?" she asked. "What I do know is that right now I shouldn't make a decision that might jeopardise my options. Not that it will be easy," she grimaced. "That argument will be in the air for days…" she shook her head.

"If I let it, it might," offered Arcturus. "If you wish I might modify that memory into one of a mundane evening and inconsequential talk over dinner, weather and what's on TV."

"Could you do that?" she asked softly.

He nodded quickly.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Just give me a couple of minutes alone with them," he said as he stood up and walked towards the door. "I will put them under a mild sleeping spell when I'm done."

"I'll head up to bed too," she sighed as she stood up.

"Oh and one more thing," said Arcturus as he turned towards her from the doorway. "Lawrence has something prepared for tomorrow if you wish to join him. He mentioned something about loitering around the train station until ten o'clock, from as early as eight I think. If not, he will pay you a visit some time on Friday, masquerading as a salesman, said that he would try to avoid arriving when your parents will be home."

"And why didn't he write me about that?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"He had a feeling that I would be able to pass it on somehow," replied Arcturus dryly. "Have a good night of rest, Hermione. He might look like a friendly dachshund but he's a seasoned investigator with all the tenacity and obstinacy of an old hunting dog."

"To be fair he looks more like a cocker spaniel," replied Hermione.

"Takes one to know one," came the reply from the corridor.

"Excuse me?" she called out as she ran after him and found him in the doorway to the kitchen. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," he smiled at her. "You have a similar disposition. Charming to the point of cuteness, socialise easily with proper manners. Tenacious in pursuit. Also easy on the eye with just the right amount of compact size and curls. My wife used to own one early in our marriage," he added and coked his head to the right. "You remind me of her, we called her Lady Grunge because as cute and friendly as she was, she was a worse garden pest than gnomes and voles," he added before he turned around and walked into the kitchen.

Hermione, too stunned by the comparison and blinking at the swinging door didn't follow. When the shock of the comparison wore off she headed upstairs to her room.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** Larry takes Hermione out to investigate.


	12. 8th July 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry takes Hermione out to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story updates on Tuesday and Thursday.
> 
> I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism.
> 
> Beta read by Regnbuen

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter twelve: 8** **th** **July 1993**

_8_ _th_ _July 1993, London_

She spent most of the night tossing and turning in her bed. She managed to fall asleep at some point only to wake up drenched with sweat and barely able to stop herself from screaming. The nightmare that woke her up was so vivid, most likely born out of residual fear that in spite of having his memory modified to forget last night's argument, her Dad would suddenly decide to have her magic bound and the memory of it erased.

It was a terrifying possibility. No magic, no memory of it, no memories of Harry or Ron or Neville… What would they think if they found out that Hermione was no longer a witch? What would they do, what would happen to them if she was no longer there to help them. Ron would still have his family but Harry… they did bond over their similar Muggle upbringing between Trolls and magic and lessons and Quidditch and mysteries. They laughed of the same absurd sketches which they tried to recreate them for Ron's amusement, although to be fair the only thing which they didn't have to explain to Ron was the Parrot's sketch. There would be none of that if she wasn't there anymore.

And what of her? How would the missing period of time be explained to her? An accident that put her out of commission for two years? Would she be able to accept this quite substantial hole in her memory. Or accept the normality of the life she would be forced to live from that point? Or would she always feel as if there was something missing from her life?

Wouldl she met her friends again? Or would she be forced to make new ones? She failed to do so in primary school. Too smart for her own good and too insecure in a group setting she tended to present what was the best of her, which always had been her mind.

What if memory modification would screw up that too? What if she would be forced to live Lockhart's life. Granted he turned out to be a fraud and he deserved to be punished, but what sort of existence awaited him if St Mungo's wouldn't be able to sort him out.

She shuddered and pulled the coverlet tighter around her shoulders as she pulled Mimi closer to her chest. Her aunt's gift to her, the physical evidence that she once existed and cared for Hermione.

"I wish you were here," she whispered into the bear's soft fur. "I need you. Now more than ever."

Then a memory of her Grandma soared to the front of her mind, part of the conversation which they had many times in several verbatim. About struggle and overcoming obstacles.

"Well, like one cigar puffer once said: if you're going through hell, keep going. Things aren't going to change just because you want them to change if you do nothing. Sure, everybody is entitled to a little despair every now and then but wallowing in your own misery gives you nothing. Once the most desolating moment passes it's time to wipe your face of remaining tears, roll up your sleeves, put on your shoes and soldier on."

She smiled softly to herself at the memory. Of course the quiet plea to her deceased godmother would bring to her mind the words of her emissary. And not even a solitary one. Mirzam left behind people that were supposed to look after her when she was gone. The kindest, warmest, almost most ideal human being on the planet that had an ability to see through the things Hermione wasn't saying. The quirky old man that held her in such high esteem to follow her wishes to the letter. An old friend that mourned her loss and kept memories of her that was willing to help her uncover the truth.

And then there was her mother. The mystery of contradictions that had surrendered her rights to her, hid her identity behind an elaborate curse but continued to care for her well-being to the point of keeping Hermione's muggle household under magical wards.

"Enough of feeling sorry for myself," she sighed.

When her parents descended down the stairs and came into the kitchen they found her finishing preparations for breakfast. They wished her good morning, a sentiment which she returned as cheerfully as she could bring herself after last night's argument. The conversation that followed was mostly a repetition of yesterday's news about the caravan and that depending on how long it would take them to pack and repack it then they would leave either on next Friday or on Saturday.

That didn't leave her a lot of time for investigating, and she had a feeling that before she would depart she should have a very long talk with Arcturus. Not just about what she wished to do but also a couple of things that he left unsaid. Then there was her neglected schoolwork and she really needed to do something about it, but not today.

Her parents departed for work at eight o'clock. The practice was open from seven to seven but her parents preferred mid-day shifts that allowed them the freedom of eating breakfast with Hermione and a chance to do some actual work while at the practice. As they departed they promised that they would return around eight o'clock.

Half past eight she was at Hampstead Heath, examining the crowd of commuters, looking for Larry which wasn't exactly an easy task. Around nine, after she'd walked around the entire station a couple of times and still hadn't found him, it occurred to her that both Arcturus, the messenger, and Larry, the one issuing the message, were bloody wizards to whom possibly there was no distinction between over-ground trains and metro. The distance between the two weren't big, about a mile or so, but she was wasting time by waiting for him here while he could be waiting for her at the metro station, and she didn't exactly have much of it left before he would depart.

So she took off running.

She literally collided with him a couple minutes later on the pavement in front The Shop on the Corner that was located on the corner where Downshire Hill met Rosslyn Hill.

"I should have been more specific with my instructions," he admitted with a small, self-deprecating smile after Hermione helped him stand up and he dusted his clothes. "But it took me a cup of coffee to remember that metro isn't the only thing that runs on rails in Hampstead."

"It took me a while to realise that too," she admitted. "So, what are you planning?"

"A surprise visit to one lady in Islington. That's why I decided on Northern line, it's faster and will drop us a couple minutes away from the place we're going to visit. Come on," he explained as he turned around.

The ride didn't take them long and Larry was a surprisingly good traveller, he showed no ne of the bewilderment most wizards would have shown.

"I always liked the trains, I found them meditative and it was a good place to observe people," he explained while they boarded an escalator at Angel Underground Station. "It was a good way to spend a Sunday when there was no work to do and no clients. Even our kind like to respect the sanctity of one free day a week."

He led them down St John's Street to the first side street on the right after passing the junction. Chadwell Street where it finished opened into Myddelton Square, and from there Larry directed them north to the corner of the square. Both Chadwell Street and Myddelton Square looked quite similar, rows upon rows of three storey townhouses that only slightly differed from one another.

39 Myddelton Square looked exactly like it's neighbours. It had a fenced basement flat, weirdly unlike its neighbours with stairs leading down to it, a solitary window next to the front door and a balcony on the first storey and three sets of different windows on each floor.

Larry walked up the stairs and knocked on the front door. Quite loudly. For about a minute there was no answer and then as he raised his hand to knock again the door opened to reveal a tall, lean woman about Mum's age. Clearly expecting someone on her own eye level she looked past Larry's head at Hermione.

Larry cleared his throat softly, which seemed to startle the woman but it made her look at him.

"Hello, my name is Larry Lawrence, Mrs Fairchild," he said briskly, paying no attention to her unintended faux pas. "We talked yesterday about a former tenant of your father's," he added.

"Oh, yes," she said quickly. "The one whose name I could never spell. Please come in," she added as she stepped away.

Larry went in, gesturing at Hermione and introducing her right away, "My granddaughter, Laura. She's home for the holidays and quite bored with nothing to do except watch TV. When I told her about my quest she insisted on coming with me. Considers herself my defender for some reason," he added as he gestured towards Hermione.

"Pleased to meet you, Laura," said Mrs Fairchild.

"You too, Mrs Fairchild," replied Hermione briskly.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" she added as she motioned towards the door on their right.

"I would hate to inconvenience you," said Larry apologetically.

"Not at all. I was already planning to make myself a cup," replied Mrs Fairchild.

"If you insist," said Larry with a small smile.

"Sit down then," said Mrs Fairchild. "I will be with you in a moment," she added as she headed further to the back of the house, where presumable the kitchen was located.

"Laura? Grandpa?" asked Hermione once she helped Larry climb up on the couch.

"You have a quite unique name which I don't exactly want her to remember, and a man of my age in the company of a young woman of your age tends to raise eyebrows. It's better to play the family card," he replied quietly. "Unless you wish to explain everything…"

"No, Grandpa," Hermione interrupted him .

Mrs Fairchild returned a moment later with a tray filled with cups and teapot, next to the teapot were saucers and a plate of shortbread biscuits. The distribution of utensils had taken a moment but soon Hermione found herself holding a cup of steaming Earl Grey and nibbled on quite good shortbread biscuit while Mrs Fairchild and Larry talked.

"What do you remember about her?" asked Larry.

"Not much, I'm afraid," replied Mrs Fairchild. "I had other things on my mind back in the day. I only went down there to deliver her mail after her health had taken a turn for the worse. She burned most of them. The only ones I saved arrived after her death. They were all forwarded to her from a nearby address, some of them were delivered by the neighbours from there. But that ended in the early seventies. My father saved them because he was hoping that her son would eventually show up. It hadn't occurred to him that the man to which the letters were addressed could have been her son. And to be fair it didn't occur to me until you mentioned that he could have changed his name. Were you good friends, Mr Lawrence?" she asked politely.

"Army mates. You know how it is," he said simply. "Save my life, I save yours. I lost the sight of him after the war had ended. Heard odd bits and pieces over the years. He was quite a hot-head so stories about the prison time didn't really surprise me. Though afterwards…" he grimaced.

"Yes," said Mrs Fairchild. "It used to drive her quite mad. As did that harlot that occasionally visited with him. Maeve was her name, kind of appropriate considering what she did for a living."

"What she did for a living?" asked Hermione quickly.

"Sold her beauty to anyone who offered her money, quite cheaply," replied Mrs Fairchild sourly. "She had a beauty that would have secured her the position of an escort but she also had the brain of a hen under all of her locks, so she spread herself in front of anyone willing to pay. Four children they had, and I'm not sure if he fathered even one of them. He was stout and blonde and all of the children were on the lean side and dark-haired like their mother."

"What happened to them?" asked Larry.

"The same thing that happened to all of them, I'm afraid," sighed Mrs Fairchild. "Their place wasn't that far away so the story was all over the neighbourhood in a matter of days. Supposedly one of his deals failed to come through, or it came through but he screwed someone over. Whoever that had been they decided to make him pay. Came in during the night, slit their throats and put the house on fire. The fire brigade got there quite fast but they had no one to save except the neighbours. It was such a tragedy," she said and sighed again. "The children in particular, he reaped what he sowed but they were so young, innocent. Their girl was eight, the boys were six, four and two respectively."

"Do you remember their names?" asked Larry before Hermione had a chance to open her mouth.

"Not all of them, I'm afraid," said Mrs Fairchild with a shake of her head. "Especially the younger two, his names they were, tongue twisters which I had problems spelling out as individual letters let alone as whole. The older two were Miranda and Reginald. Randa and Reg they called themselves," she paused and after a moment added, "and Rad, the four year old called himself Rad. Always together, always following her, sometimes, and that was a couple months before the fire, they were accompanied by another black-haired boy. Possibly a cousin or something. He was about her age, maybe older. Lean like she was, quite handsome, high cheekbones, it doesn't look good on anyone but it looked good on him. He followed them around, trailing behind her like a puppy with the look of a fish out of water," she paused again. "He had a funny name. Cyrus I think they called him."

Could Cyrus be Sirius Black…

"His surname, you said that his name was Brown?" asked Larry.

"You must heard me wrong, Mr Lawrence," said Mrs Fairchild quickly. "I said Black, Sviatoslav," she spelled the individual letters out, "Black. Maeve and the old lady, her mother, poor thing she died shortly after her daughter married that man, they were Black," she paused for a moment. "So was that Cyrus boy I think," she added hesitantly. "I think that I heard Randa call him that once when I found them playing in the garden on the square. But I might be wrong. Hadn't seen him after the fire, either way."

It took a considerable effort to keep her jaw from dropping under the avalanche of what she learned. That Cyrus was Sirius Black was evident and explained how his teddy-bear had found its way to Mirzam's hands. Though it didn't explain how she managed to survive her own murder.

She tuned out the rest of chit-chat between Larry and Mrs Fairchild, trying to come out with a scenario that ensured Mirzam's survival but she was coming up empty.

"How could she survive her own murder?" she asked Larry once they found themselves outside 39 Myddelton Square behind closed doors.

"Your guess is as good as mine," sighed Larry. "She was a witch while the rest of her family were Muggles. Maybe she escaped. Maybe their murderers hadn't found her there and believed that they had gotten them all. Can't tell you for certain without examining the place."

"You're planning to examine the place?" asked Hermione sceptically. "How? What if someone lives there?"

"Well, then I will have to get creative," said Larry with a shrug. "It's not that far away like Mrs Fairchild said. In fact, all we have to do is walk west towards Grimmauld Street into Grimmauld Place. They lived under number 39, a truly accursed number," he added as he started walking down the stairs.

"Why?" asked Hermione as she caught up with him on the pavement.

"Three set of thirteens. One alone is an unlucky number but three," he said, then grimaced and flinched. "Three is a magical number, as are its multipliers, like nine or twenty one."

"It's just a number," said Hermione with a shrug.

"That's very unlucky," pointed out Larry. "Take a look around the alley next time you're there. No thirteens, no thirty-nines, no, Merlin forbid ninety-ones or one hundred seventeens."

"Superstitions," muttered Hermione.

"They come from somewhere you know," replied Larry.

"Yes, lack of education," agreed Hermione.

Larry grumbled under his breath something that sounded to Hermione's ears like a curse but since she didn't hear it very well she couldn't say what it was. And by the time she readied her tirade on how one shouldn't allow superstations to rule their lives she heard someone calling out her name.

She whirled around, looking for that person, praying that it wasn't her parents. She saw no one in her immediate vicinity but then as her name was called out again she looked towards the square and found Josephine Turner standing on the pavement. She waved at her and looked around before she crossed the street towards them.

"How are you doing Hermione?" she asked briskly. "How is the thing we talked about going?

"I've been better," replied Hermione truthfully. "And I hadn't found my mother but I found my aunt, she's dead though but I also found Larry," she gestured towards Larry. "Larry Lawrence, Josephine Turner," she introduced them to each other. "Josephine helped me with getting my hands on Mirzam's letters."

"Pleased to make the acquaintance," said Larry as he bowed his head.

"As am I," replied Josephine with a bright smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Investigating," replied Hermione at the same time as Larry said, "Planning to break into a house."

"Right," drawled out Josephine with a small nod.

"Well, only if it's occupied and I can't charm the owners into letting us inside unsupervised for about an hour," explained Larry.

"Confident of your charm aren't you?" asked Josephine with a suspiciously looking smile on her face.

Was she bloody flirting?"

"Madam, I'm a man of a short stature but what I lack in height I more than make up with my charm," replied Larry briskly.

And he was flirting back?

Hermione blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice.

"Do you have something in your eye, Hermione?" asked Josephine in concern. "You've been blinking quite furiously."

"I'm…" started Hermione slowly. "I'm feeling a bit lightheaded," she finally said after a moment.

Which was how she found herself seated on the steps of the nearby townhouse with her head between her legs and Josephine's hand clamped lightly over her wrist while Larry kept fanning her with a church bulletin that he took from Josephine. It was as endearing as it was annoying and she quickly recovered from her feigned faint spell. While Josephine and Larry discussed properties of stamina enhancing potions apparently.

Once recovered she continued the trek with them down Grimmauld Street, whose length was even shorter than that of Chadwell Street, only partially listening to their conversation which went from potions to the new flavours of Fortescue's ice-cream. And to be fair, they tried to include her into it but the easiness with which they talked made her felt like an intruder.

Finally, after what felt like ages they found themselves in front of 39 Grimmauld Place. It was a townhouse that looked exactly like its neighbours. It had two storeys with an attic space and a basement flat that unlike its neighbours didn't have stairs leading down to it. Like all of the neighbour houses it was narrow, only two windows wide, but unlike its neighbours it looked lifeless. While the other houses had potted plants on their first floor balconies and open windows, number 39 appeared to be completely deserted.

"So are we breaking in or asking politely?" asked Josephine cautiously.

"Well, I'm not exactly looking like an encyclopaedia salesman," said Larry cautiously and for some reason it made Josephine laugh before she snorted something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like 'burglar'.

"Are you quoting Monty Python?" asked Hermione incredulously.

"I do get out occasionally," replied Larry with a shrug. "Not often but I always found Pythons entertaining. I'm blaming your aunt for that. The Parrot truly is a national treasure and I have yet to see a more entertaining rendition of that sketch than Sirius's adaptation to our standards," he added with a fond smile. But then he sobered up and muttered, "Well, here goes nothing."

He knocked on the door with quite a force and Hermione found Josephine's arm wrapped around her shoulders.

The door clicked and very slowly slid open revealing a darkened hallway in which there was nothing.

"I don't like it," muttered Larry as he pulled out his wand.

Hermione followed him and pulled out hers while she saw Josephine tightening her grip on her long umbrella. After a short moment of hesitation Larry entered the house. He moved slowly, with caution and possibly as softly as he could. When he reached the level of the doorway on the right, he frowned and pushed them open. For a moment he stared into the room before he looked towards Hermione and Josephine and nodded.

Hermione followed him, in the same slow and cautious manner, gliding over the carpeting rather than stepping on it, with Josephine at her heels. Reaching Larry had taken them a moment and together they peered into the room that appeared to be empty.

But the very moment Hermione turned to Larry to ask quietly 'what now' the front door slammed itself with a thud so loud that it made her and Josephine jump and cling to each other.

From the corner of her vision she spotted movement and immediately fixated her eyes on…

…. Arcturus that was seated in a big and comfortably looking armchair with a bored expression on his face while in his right hand he was twirling his cane.

"That certainly took you long enough," he commented with briskness that didn't show on his face.

"You cock," huffed Larry. "Utter, utter cock."

"There's no need to repeat that ungentlemanly word, as I heard you the first time quite distinctly," replied Arcturus and a twitch of his lips followed that comment.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: An old man shares what he knows p. 1.


	13. 8th July 1993 p. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcturus shares with Hermione what he knows about her aunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 11 000.
> 
> **AN:** I swear that it's the last chapter that revolves around Mirzam But it fit with Larry's quest to find more about her so Hermione didn't need to decide what to do right away. **It contains references to past sexual abuse of minors, no graphic descriptions are given, only statements that such things took place at all.** This chapter, as well as chapter 14 & 15, should be one giant chapter but I took mercy on both you and my beta as individually they're quite long and as one chapter they would have been the length of the first chapter of Collision Course. But once Arcturus is done with explaining everything he thinks he has to explain Hermione does get her retribution in chapter 16. From there onwards is just the quest itself. But just to know what you can expect about the main subjects of discussion from each individual chapter here it is: 13 - Mirzam; 14 - Dumbledore; 15 - Sirius. My personal favourite is Dumbledore's.
> 
> **The story updates on Tuesday and Thursday.**
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen**

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter thirteen: 8th July 1993**

_8th July 1993, 39 Grimmauld Place, London_

Arcturus got up from the armchair with ease and approached them with a small smile.

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Larry suspiciously.

"Visiting the Black family property," replied Arcturus dryly.

"This isn't a Black family property, Arcturus," replied Larry with a snort. "At your age it's easy to confuse numbers. For the life of me I can't remember the bloody number, but I quite distinctly remember staying with your brother in London and I remember that it was at Grimmauld Place. What I do remember however is that Grimmauld Street was located on the right side of the house and not the left."

Arcturus's lips twitched again before he replied, in the same dry tone, "As it sometimes happens you're right. The house which number you're trying to summon is located on Grimmauld Place under a different number. Yet, you're wrong on the subject of the Black family properties."

"Because you're wrong about the families," replied Larry.

"No, I'm not," quipped Arcturus.

"Mirzam Verascez was born Miranda Black and in all likelihood this house belonged to her…" started Larry.

"It did," agreed Arcturus.

"So let me ask, again. What are you doing here?" asked Larry in exasperation.

"Let me answer this, again," replied Arcturus dryly. "Visiting the Black family property."

"She didn't come from your Black family," grumbled Larry.

"From most certainly she did not," confirmed Arcturus. "Into, on the other hand she most definitely did," he added dryly.

"Ignoring her Muggle upbringing and opinion of being a Muggleborn even though she was not, not even you, in your most benevolent mood, would have allowed your heir to marry someone of such a low birth," replied Larry grimly.

"That's your opinion of her?" asked Arcturus dryly.

"Of course not," protested Larry vehemently. "You know what I'm talking about, you prick."

"Unfortunately, I do," said Arcturus with a grimace. "As much as I wished to undo the damage that my father had created I couldn't right all of the wrongs he made," he added grimly. "Had he been less hot-headed we would still have Phineas's branch with his heirs and most likely some members of that branch would be magical. Phineas was a capable wizard and his wife although non-magical herself was a highly intelligent woman of good health and constitution. With Phineas's levels of personal power at the very least one of their children would be magical but thanks to my father we will never know what could have happen if he simply accepted Phineas's choice. My Grandfather although he also have grounds to disinherit Iola and her heirs never did so. Then there was Cora," he grumbled.

"What about Cora?" asked Larry, with a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"You two were too busy causing mischief to pay attention to her suitors but one of them, and one to whose attention she was actually receptive was Aidan O'Leary," replied Arcturus.

"Gryffindor or Ravenclaw?" asked Larry.

"Ravenclaw," said Arcturus.

"But he was a Muggleborn," muttered Larry.

"And therein lied the problem," said Arcturus grimly. "Never mind that O'Leary was quite a powerful young wizard, socially smart and a talented Herbologist that eventually made a name for himself in Ireland. What had mattered to my father was something the boy had no control of, but it was enough to deny my sister a long and happy marriage, filled if not with children, then at the very least with someone who would have been there for her," he added and grimaced.

"And Regulus?" asked Larry pensively. "I never saw him courting anyone."

"I did," replied Arcturus stiffly. "Unfortunately he was courting someone completely clueless of his affection and dedication."

"Who was she?" asked Larry curiously.

"A fellow classmate of his," said Arcturus simply. "A half-blood of somewhat questionable lineage but with a good head, dedicated heart and enough clout to get into the Auror Office and then into the Hit-Wizards."

Larry frowned and muttered, "I don't recall such a lass."

"There's no such lass because I meant you, you moron," said Arcturus sourly. "My brother was, what's that expression that I heard, oh, there it is, gayer than a pride flag. The only straight thing about him were his vests because even his wand was slightly bent," he snorted.

Larry locked shocked by the admission and after a moment he mumbled, "I never knew. He never said anything that would imply…"

"For the love of Merlin," groaned Arcturus. "He was gay, not stupid," he added grimly. "He saw you pining one lass after another, never showing more interest in him than that of a good friend. He could stand it while you were young while he still sustained some hope that maybe one day you would be able to see that he was more devoted to you than any of your female dalliances. But hope indeed is the worst of evils for it prolongs the torment of man. It took him years to come to the conclusion that he would never be more than just a good friend. It killed him, maybe not right away but the depression started consuming him little by little, eventually it spread all over the aspects his life. He started giving into youthful vices, occasionally at first, in order to improve his focus in his work, but instead of making him better it made him careless. His work, his professional opinion started to suffer. His success rate had faltered which made him take riskier and shadier jobs, he made a couple of enemies out of former allies. By the age of fifty he was all but a shell of the brilliant, energetic man he was in his youth," he paused for a moment before he said slowly. "Then things started to improve, he wrote enthusiastic missives, agreed to spend better part of the year in England even. He teased Lucy and Iggy over the lack of babies between coming up with most ridiculous names for Sirius. He spent time with our mother showing her more patience than I had. He went out with Alphard and…" he paused again. "Mea culpa," he sighed heavily. "I failed to see through what he was doing, I, who knew him the best of the entire family, maybe with exception of Cora. I didn't recognise that the reason why he started putting his affairs in order was not because he believed that a man of his age should have them prepared just in case but because he was planning to end his life," he paused again. "I thought that I could make you see this, but like those capitulating, cheese consuming chimpanzees you bought the cover he offered you."

As Arcturus went Larry's face turned from shock to a frown that gave way to a tight-lipped fury that culminated with hissed through gritted teeth, "Have enough courage to admit that you're blaming me for his death."

"I did," said Arcturus simply. "For a long while even though on Regulus's request I continued to look after you. Took me a while to understand that the thing you were guilty of was not ill-will rather than ignorance and short-sightedness peculiar to straight men that never once entertained the idea of someone of their sex being interested in them. Because if you had, then maybe things would have ended quite differently."

"Nice of you to bring it out now," spat Larry before he turned on his heel and with his wand threw the front door wide open before he flew out of the house.

The doors slammed shut behind him with a loud thud.

Hermione and Josephine remained standing, shocked by both Arcturus's confession and Larry's outburst. As Hermione looked at Josephine's face she saw how torn she was by what she witnessed.

"Go after him," said Hermione quickly. "Or at least try, he will need a friend."

"He could have disapparated," said Josephine slowly.

"Not his preferred method of transport," said Arcturus simply. "If you don't find him soon, knowing him you will be able to find him in the first watering hole that's open at this hour. There are a couple of them around the block up north on Donegal and White Lion, but I would check up Chapel Bar first, those two idiots liked to sneak in there when they were teenagers."

"Hermione?" asked Josephine cautiously.

"Go," said Hermione earnestly. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" asked Josephine sceptically.

"Yes," said Hermione quickly.

Josephine left the house in a far less dramatic manner, closing the door carefully after herself.

"That wasn't nice," commented Hermione stiffly.

"While part of me is delighted by your ability to draw to your aid people of many talents and many backgrounds the conversation which I want to have with you concerns private issues of people that valued their privacy and would have been appealed if I aired their dirty laundry to a crowd," replied Arcturus. "Not that I'm feeling at ease with the idea of discussing them with you. You're young and innocent, something that I personally wish to preserve for as long as humanly possible."

"Then why do you feel the need to discuss them with me?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Because of what you already told me yesterday," replied Arcturus. "You want to make an informed decision and I'm about to offer you the means to do so. Why don't we sit down?" he asked. "We can either settle in here," he gestured towards the sitting-room and then towards the door at the end of the hall, "or in the kitchen."

Hermione gestured towards the sitting-room and Arcturus stepped away from the doorway to allow her entrance.

She entered the room, tactfully looking around the place. The room was painted in a lush green colour, curiously enough not a deep green she expected it to be considering who owned it now. It was a quite bright tone of green, that matched the wood of the furniture splendidly. The colour of wood was mid-brown and the floor matched the furniture to a t. The solitary window had an alluring looking window seat that was filled with pillows. On the opposite wall to the door was a fireplace with a high mantelpiece, tall enough for a man to pass through it. Between the door and the fireplace stood a long couch that at the very least could sit three people comfortably. In front of the couch was a low coffee table. Both sides of the couch were bracketed with side tables that were just tall enough to put or retrieve something from them. Next to them, on both sides of the room, though a couple of feet to the centre of the room stood two armchairs. The fireplace on both sides was bracketed with built-in bookcases that were filled with books. But the most curious piece of décor, considering the current owner, however, was a TV located in the corner of the room.

Unsure where to sit with so many options available she sat down on the couch, by the left arm of it, close to the armchair which Arcturus vacated when he stood up to greet them.

He returned to that chair and sat down, placing his cane by the left side of it.

"Mirzam's actual name was Miranda Black," she said slowly. "Coincidence or a relative of yours?" she asked pensively.

"Even though over the years I came to believe that there are no such a thing like coincidences, this case is an exception," replied Arcturus slowly. "Reginald Black, Miranda's paternal grandfather was one of the Crown's soldiers during the Greater Muggle War. His father, Patrick was the owner of a glass making manufacture, a business that he inherited from his own father, also a Muggle. I traced their lineage through twentieth and nineteenth century as well as very late eighteenth century but I found no connections between us and them. Not that I expected to find any. Unlike my father I wasn't deluded that our surname was unique to the wizarding world alone. The Blacks were a family of Jews that with passing time had migrated from the territory of Eastern Europe, they stayed long enough in Germany to attain their surname in the German language but eventually they made their way to Ireland, to the troublesome area of Ulster. Quite early they traded their German surname for the English version and settled themselves in Belfast. I don't know a lot about Mrs Black's past but I managed to learn that she was a child of migrants from the Austrian territory of Northern Galicia. For you it would be the territories of Southern Poland, Northern Ukraine and Czechoslovakia. Her father and his family lived in Casimir, a Jewish town just outside Cracow that eventually got incorporated into it. Her mother was a governess for one of the families for which his father had worked. He was Jewish and she was Catholic and their affair was discovered quite quickly. So they ran away, from the town as well as the country, they aimed for finding a new life in the United States, but when their ship was thrown off course and had to stay in the port of Cork for repairs, she was quite heavy with child and quite sick of sailing."

"So they decided to stay there," said Hermione.

"Eventually, due to unrest they made their way up north, to Belfast and decided to stay there," continued Arcturus. "Between the two they built a name for themselves there, even though people could hardly spell out their surname. They had no other children aside from Martha, living children at the very least, and as converts themselves they had no trouble accepting Reginald as their daughter's suitor. They got married, had three sons that didn't survive long after birth and one daughter that did. Maeve was born in the troublesome year of 1942 a couple of months after her father was summoned to the army. He died before she was born but Martha had too much on her shoulders to despair. She had a child to take care of and the manufacture to look after. She managed it quite successfully for a single mother. She ran it until she found her sixteen year old daughter increasing in size."

"And how did that go?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Like a lead balloon," said Arcturus with a grimace. "Maeve, after her parents and grandparents received the fair complexion of her maternal grandmother and the dark hair with curls that came from her paternal grandmother, an Irish woman. She was a girl of considerable beauty but very little sense or sensibility. Spoiled rotten by her mother, in an attempt to repay her the loss of a father, she sought out relations with older men."

"You mean whoring herself," said Hermione sourly.

"I'm not convinced that at that age she saw it as such," said Arcturus sourly. "Your grandfather was one of the many men that bedded her, and Miranda believed that he had done so repetitively enough for Reginald to also be his son. But at the moment I'm getting a bit ahead. Not wanting to hurt her daughter's chances for eventual marriage, Martha Black sold the manufacture and her family fortune and decided to seek her luck elsewhere. Why she thought that London was the best place for that I have no idea. But she purchased this house and another one that eventually got sold, and made a living out of keeping tenants. Sviatoslav Zahradníček," he said the name with the same enunciation as Larry had, "was one of those tenants. He was quite receptive of the attention that Maeve paid him even as she was already increasing with Reginald. He was charming and manipulative enough that he convinced Martha that he didn't mind raising someone else's bastards. Had she given him the boot back then, and maybe even forced her daughter to clean up her act then perhaps Miranda and Reginald's lives would have been different. But she eventually succumbed to her daughter's pleas. So they got married, but it quickly turned out that Maeve and Slav were like two pees in a pod. He worked, for a while at the very least, but everything he got from work he spent on alcohol and later on drugs. Prior to their marriage Maeve occasionally attempted to act like a proper loving mother, but under Slav's guidance she completely let herself go. All of the childrearing had befallen on Mrs Black, and quite soon the older two were joined by a child of Slav, at the very least he believed that it was his son, although that can't be certain. The boy was named Radoslav Aaron which supposedly didn't sit well with Slav but he didn't have a right to complain and neither did Maeve because on the day of his christening they were both drunk as a pair of skunks."

"Who named him then?" asked Hermione.

"Miranda," replied Arcturus. "A child of four years and four languages which she spoke quite fluently for her age because even though her grandmother was a convert she occasionally used Hebrew around the kids. Miranda had an ear for languages, English, she heard at home, Polish and Czech from old Mrs Zahradníček when the old ladies were on good terms. Apparently Radoslav's names were a form of vengeance that the old ladies thought was appropriate for Slav for deserting his father's name and language as well as for his anti-Semitic comments. So Radoslav Aaron the boy was named and the other one also received similarly punishing name, Zdzieslav Mordechai, another of Miranda's ideas."

"How do you speak it with such ease?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Like Miranda I was born with a good ear for language," replied Arcturus. "French was always highly valued in my father's family and my mother was a descendant of a Scot and Hispanic Jew. So Spanish was another language I learned early on as well as enough of Hebrew to please Nana Gamp. Hebrew itself I picked when I started pursuing my future wife, her Ma was an Irish Jew but her father was an anglicised Scot. German I learned out of boredom and Czech was something that I picked when I was an ambassador of England in Prague. Bits and pieces of Polish I learned from an acquaintance that I made there, an ambassador of the Polish ministry. A lovely fellow with a Norwegian wife, so my wife had learned just enough to cheer her up as outside of her husband she really had no one to talk to in her own language. Russian too I learned while I was in Prague because I discovered a…" he added with no short degree of pride before he stopped and said. "We're getting too far away from the subject of our discussion."

"It's still interesting," said Hermione dryly.

"Where was I?" muttered Arcturus. "Right. As long as Mrs Black lived, Maeve and Slav's children were taken care of and raised quite well considering the circumstances. Especially Miranda, she received a somewhat stern but proper upbringing with manners befitting a young lady. She was taught the difference of right and wrong and proper and improper. And she was a bright child, she saw that most parents of her playmates didn't act like her own. But when Miranda was seven and Zdzieslav was a couple months old the tragedy struck them, Martha Black suffered a massive heart-attack that killed her instantaneously."

"And Maeve and her husband found themselves alone with the kids," said Hermione.

"Yes," confirmed Arcturus. "What was more worrisome was the lack of a source of income as Mrs Black disinherited her daughter and her husband in her last will and testament. The will was a bit complicated in its wording but generally it made Miranda the sole beneficiary of all properties and whatever money Mrs Black had. Money were put in trust under the care of Mrs Black lawyer. He was supposed to take the monthly allowance and exchange it for goods as he saw fit. Be it food or clothes. A small portion of that allowance was supposed to take care of the utility bills of this house."

"But if Miranda was the owner of the house wouldn't her mother…" started Hermione.

"I know what you're going to ask and Mrs Black predicted that eventuality too. Both properties couldn't be sold until after Miranda turned eighteen. Upon reaching that age Miranda was obliged by the will to distribute everything as she saw fit, with instructions, that had Maeve and her husband managed to live this long, to award them with a shelter befitting their involvement and dedication as parents. The rest of everything was supposed to be split between all of the children equally with Miranda as a trustee until all of her brothers were of age. Additionally Mrs Black disinherited all of the future children that Maeve and Slav would have," explained Arcturus.

"But wouldn't that depreciate the value of the property or something?" asked Hermione sceptically. "If both houses were supposed to stand empty I mean."

"In this house Maeve and her husband were allowed to live with their children until Miranda turned eighteen, with like I said all utilities covered by Mrs Black's lawyer from the allowance. He was supposed to provide the children with all the goods necessary as he saw fit. He was also supposed to demand the removal of children from Maeve and Slav's care if he saw anything alarming at any point in time," said Arcturus. "Meanwhile the other house was supposed to be put under the care of an administrator that was allowed a portion of the income from the tenants there, supposedly a brother of a friend of hers, but I will get to that later on. For now all that matters is that Mrs Black tied her daughter's and her husband's hands pretty tight. They had a roof over their heads and Slav for a while managed to manipulate the lawyer into believing that all was well at home. But being a pair of drunkards and junkies, while provided with food and board they weren't provided with money for their whims. So quite quickly Maeve returned to whoring and subletting the rooms in the house for enough money to get by."

"And the children?" asked Hermione softly.

"That burden had befallen on the oldest of them. Maeve quite sternly told Miranda that if she was supposed to benefit from future ownership of the house then she should work for it. So all of the childcare had befallen on her. The lawyer managed to secure for all of the children a spot in schools and nurseries but it was Maeve's job to get them there. Something that quickly befallen on Miranda too, and Maeve only showed up just enough times to appease too concerned caretakers. So at the brink of turning eight Miranda, aside of her own school work and looking after Reginald's had duties towards her brothers that Maeve neglected. She fed, dressed, bathed them, kept schedule of doctor's visits when such were necessary and bartered with her step-father to take them there…"

"How?" whispered Hermione. "She was seven years old for Merlin's sake."

Arcturus sighed heavily before he said softly, "In the only currency that Slav accepted."

"Drugs? Alcohol?" whispered Hermione.

"No, my dear," whispered Arcturus.

"You don't mean…" Hermione started but couldn't bring herself to finish.

"Yes, that," said Arcturus grimly. "A seven year old whoring herself for fatherly duties being carried out on the top of essentially being a mother of three. But…" he hesitated for a moment, "she bore it without a complaint or plea for mercy. She loved those boys to pieces and there was nothing she wouldn't do for them."

"Even submitting herself to that?" choked out Hermione.

"Even that," sighed Arcturus. "Why I'm telling you that? I want you to see clearly the girl that she was when she first crossed paths with my grandson. An equally lonesome boy burdened with the responsibility of being a caretaker of a younger sibling, with parents just as ill-equipped to raise them as Miranda's parents were."

"One of which was your son," pointed out Hermione sourly.

"Yes, he was," said Arcturus grimly. "Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. I chose to not see that, foolishly believing that his disdain towards me was extended to my person only. Sirius and Regulus spent quite a lot of time with us in their early childhood. My daughter-in-law was a woman of a troubled mind and she and my son spent quite a lot of their time abroad, in order to stabilise her. The stretches of time were…" he paused. "At certain times they were gone for a couple of weeks, at others a couple of months. By the time Regulus turned three and started to talk rather than babble he called my wife Mama rather than Nana. It broke my heart but at the time I was busy myself with teaching Sirius. He was a quiet, bright boy, polite and proper and curious beyond his age. Being in his company took years, decades even, from my shoulders," he paused for a moment. "To the point of finding myself constantly biting my tongue when I talked with him otherwise I would start calling him my son," he paused again. "He should have been my son, I should have made them both my sons by removing them from their parents care permanently. Their lives would have been much different if I had, but I was a coward that didn't want a conflict with my own son. So rather than doing what was right I did what I decided was proper. I accepted the position of an ambassador in Prague, a job that would occupy me for a couple of years, long enough for Orion and Wally to…" he shook his head.

"What happened to them while you were gone?" asked Hermione softly.

"For most of the time Orion and Wally left them under the care of the house elves, a devoted bunch that loved both to pieces. Lola in particular was devoted to the boys, she certainly was more of a mother to them than Wally had ever been," replied Arcturus. "But aside from that the boys raised themselves, well, Sirius was doing the raising and Regulus was being raised. Sirius was seven and a half I think and Reggie was a couple weeks away from turning five," replied Arcturus slowly. "It was early summer, my son and his wife were gone and Reggie came down with a summer flu. So one of the days after Lola boot him out of Regulus's room so he could nap under her watchful eye Sirius headed outside to the playground where he met Miranda and the boys," he paused and smiled softly. "Imagine those two meeting the other for the first time. A fierce little lioness protecting her cubs from a playground bully, displaying clear signs of magic in front of a morose, lonely boy that spent his childhood watching Muggle children from the window of his bedroom."

Hermione smiled sadly.

"It went like most meetings between children of such different backgrounds. Somewhat turbulent at first but soon they became inseparable companions and Sirius found himself adored by not only Miranda who pestered him with questions from dawn till dusk and sometimes a long after that, but also the other boys. Reginald in particular hero-worshiped him since the moment Sirius told him that he was also a wizard. Even more so once Sirius admitted that he had a brother his age. Unfortunately a meeting between the two didn't occur because Regulus's flu had turned into a case of dragon pox that kept him bedridden for the entire summer, and once the summer had ended…" said Arcturus with a heavy sigh. "My son and his wife returned to England within the first days of September, and even though Regulus recovered, Sirius would have a lot of trouble with sneaking him out too. Miranda's eight birthday came and went and September turned into October and that too had passed almost entirely with sickness, this time pneumonia and Sirius's flu."

"And the fire?" whispered Hermione.

"Happened on Halloween night," said Arcturus sadly. "A couple of days away from Sirius's birthday. I never learned the details of their last meeting but I do know that Sirius last saw her by the nearby church and on that day he passed his naming day gift from Alphard to her. Why? I have no idea. Maybe he thought that she needed it more than he did or maybe he had some sort of precognition. He used to be sensitive to that as a younger child, not that he was superstitious but he had an uncanny instinct and an eye for details which made him a vicious dueller even at that age."

"Do you know how she avoided meeting the same fate as the rest of the family?" asked Hermione softly.

"She never explicitly said and I didn't dare to ask," sighed Arcturus. "The words she used to describe it was that Sirius saved her, but at the time Sirius believed her to be dead like the rest of the family. It was a turbulent period of time for him. He couldn't even mourn her openly, not with Orion and Wally in the house and the charred ruins of this house was something he stared at all day long. By the time Mel and I returned from Prague for Christmas the boy I remembered was long gone. He lost a significant amount of weight, barely ate, not even his favourite meals. Never particularly exuberant in the first place he became even more morose. Regulus was the only person around whom he still smiled for, even though to a careful observer that smile no longer reached his eyes like it did before. When not morose he was combative and at times downright rude, usually to Wally but at times to Orion, that caused a lot of tension between them. Not that their relationship had been particularly easy in the first place. You see, Orion knew from an early age that my position would pass him by and he always resented that, and he resented Sirius even more for fitting in the criteria that the family law demanded to be met. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa," he sighed softly at the end.

"But he found her eventually," said Hermione softly.

"Before that happened many years had passed," said Arcturus with a grimace. "Christmas break of that year had ended with a very loud bang and Sirius disappearing for nearly three days. He was my heir and he knew how to hide within the house and grounds from everyone, even though the entire property was searched from top to bottom and from east to west as well as north to south and backwards. Mel and I were going spare, as did Regulus. Orion and Wally didn't really care and they eventually departed, to Greece most probably. It was only after they were gone when one of the elves had found Sirius in the thestral copse, a somewhat reclusive area of the property not very often visited. He had no wand or warm clothes and by the time he was found he was running a high fever. A flu we believed but when usual remedies had failed to improve his condition we summoned the family healer. Encephalitis," he sighed heavily. "Too severe to risk moving him to St Mungo's so he had to be taken care of at home. He was unconscious for the majority of the time, and when he wasn't he was delirious. I pieced bits and pieces of what occurred when he was out of his delirium. I learned about Miranda and the boys and…" he paused before he leaned forward, placing his elbows at his knees before he hid his face in his hands and choked out a sob.

Quietly Hermione rose from the couch and tiptoed to the coffee table before him before very gently she sat on the edge of it. Once certain that it wasn't tipping under her weight she leaned forward slightly and placed her right hand on his knee.

Arcturus lowered his hands just enough to look at her through his fingers. His eyes were wet with tears and he looked utterly miserable.

"Go on," said Hermione softly. "You need it."

Arcturus lowered his hands and placed his right hand over Hermione's and gave it a gentle squeeze before he said after a small sniff, "I shouldn't burden you even more than I had and it doesn't put me in a particularly good light."

"Let me be the judge of that," she offered earnestly. "Informed decision, remember?"

"You're right," he sighed and sniffed softly. "I like to present myself as powerful and omniscient, an old habit that I learned under my father's watchful eye. Hazard of the position, he told me, your word will be final and you need to make it clear that your opinion cannot be changed. Otherwise they will walk over you like they walked over my father," he added grimly as he gave Hermione's hand another gentle squeeze.

"Sounds wise," offered Hermione with a soft smile.

"He was but like I already said, he had his faults, we all do. Mine was incredulity," he sighed before he took both of Hermione's hands into his, giving them another gentle squeeze. "Although to be fair another one of them was arrogance. I fancied myself infallible even at the point when I was repetitively proven wrong. But I was never the one that had to suffer for it. My brother, my sister, they both paid that price," he paused for a moment before he breathed softly, "as did Sirius."

"What else did he say?" asked Hermione gently.

"Regulus broke a vase, a trinket of little but sentimental value, a gift of my aunt to Wally. Piece of tasteless shit, the Bulstrodes were never known for having a good taste," he said and grimaced. "But Wally valued it and Regulus was terrified of the punishment. As unstable as she was, Wally had good and bad periods, and at that time she was between both so it was hard to predict what sort of punishment she would dole out. So, Sirius, being the exemplary older brother offered to take the blame," he paused and sighed heavily. "But it wasn't Wally who doled out the punishment and it wasn't the one that Sirius expected."

"It was his father," whispered Hermione.

Arcturus squeezed her hands tightly before he lessened his hold as he said, "Yes, he was." Then he paused again and took a deep, shaky breath before he continued, "Orion took him up to his room and ordered him to strip, from the waist down. Spanking is a derogatory punishment to begin with, but one done to an already offended by their own nakedness party is even more so. I never did so, all the whacks any of them ever received were through clothes, but Orion," his face grew grim as he said his name, "he took a particularly vicious pleasure in doing it that way. It never occurred to me that there was something more sinister than the desire to make the lesson be remembered longer," he added and shook his head.

"So he beat him," said Hermione softly.

"I wish he had," muttered Arcturus grimly. "But that wasn't what happened," he added morosely. "He raped him," he breathed out. "An eight year old boy, his own son, as a punishment for something out of such little value," he spat angrily. "And I," his voice faltered, "I dismissed it as the ramblings of a delusional boy with a particularly tense relationship with his father. Not right away of course. I waited and watched. Once Sirius recovered he never brought up what he said, I'm not sure that he was even aware that he slipped it out. I took it as a sign that it was indeed a delusion, a bad, feverish dream born out of disdain and fear of his father's punishments," he shook his head. "But I watched them both very closely afterwards both at my home and during my increased visits to their own. Sirius wasn't scared of Orion, if anything he was more combative and mouthy and Orion…" he paused again. "Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa," he sighed heavily. "Eventually I forgot all about it until Miranda threw it into my face," his face crumbled. "My incredulity at the delusional accusations of a sick, grieving little boy not only allowed that singular incident to go unpunished, as it should have been, but also allowed my son to continue the abuse of his son for years to come until Sirius just couldn't take it anymore and he fled home."

Hermione's heart broke a little for that little boy as well as the man in front of her and she said softly, "He was your son, how could you expect the worst of him?"

"Quite easily," sighed Arcturus heavily and he grimaced. "All Blacks are more or less well educated in the area of Dark Arts. A relict of old times when such knowledge mattered whether or not you were going to live past your school years long enough to see your grandchildren and to ensure that they too saw their grandchildren. Also an occupational hazard of having one of the best supplied libraries on the subject. And believe me, it's massive. Orion, like his sister, was a bright, curious child that spent more time with his nose in books than outside. He continuously proved himself to be conscious of what he should or shouldn't read, so as he grew older I let it slide. Maybe if I hadn't, who knows," he shook his head. "All children are like trees, they all grow from little saplings into feeble young trees of weak roots but drive to grow bigger and stronger. And some trees do grow tall and strong, with deep roots, straight and proper. But some," he paused for a moment, "some do that to a certain point and then something, somehow or thanks to someone's interference goes wrong and they start to tilt dangerously towards one side, growing into caricatures of themselves. Orion was such a child. A model son and father in the public eye but in private a monster whose heart should have been pierced with a knife. An honour that wasn't bestowed on me."

"Why?" whispered Hermione.

"Because the list of his offences didn't only include family members. Had it been the case I would be able to claim familial judgement and punish him how I saw fit. But as things stood not only he was guilty of continuous sexual abuse of his own son but also of multiple murders, and Miranda took great pleasure in rubbing that into my face," replied Arcturus grimly. "Therefore that particular honour had befallen on her. Not that she was actively planning to kill him, just catch him and see him rotting in Azkaban for eternity, but due to unfortunate circumstances surrounding his arrest he suffered a heart attack and died, the coward," he added the last word with a snort.

"And Sirius?" asked Hermione pensively. "What sort of tree was he?"

"A capricious one," sighed Arcturus grimly. "Orion's abuse had changed him. It was only after Orion died, when I learned that he'd threatened Sirius with moving his abuse to Regulus if he ever breathed a word about it to anyone. How that was supposed to work I have no idea because if he as much as breathed a word about what his father was doing to him Orion wouldn't have a chance to even lay a hand on Regulus," he added grimly. "But fear is a powerful tool in the hands of a psychopath, and Orion knew what buttons he should press to make Sirius malleable. Regulus always had been a pressure point for Sirius, from the earliest age. Prior to Sirius's arrival to Hogwarts they were inseparable and they adored each other. He even went as far as to beg me to hold him back another year so they could go to Hogwarts together. At the time, unfortunately, I took it as the sign of co-dependency and decided that separation would do them both good," he paused and shook his head. "I didn't realise how terrified he had to have been that Orion would try something with Regulus. No wonder he wound up in bloody Gryffindor."

"Hey, it's not that bloody bad," protested Hermione.

"You're obliged to say that because you're a Gryffindor," replied Arcturus dryly. "To be fair it's my own fault, for instead of seeing him off to Hogwarts and making sure that he was surrounded with his acquaintances I headed to a Wizengamot meeting. Had I done so the odds of him meeting James Potter prior to their sorting would have been miniscule and most likely he would have ended up in Slytherin like the rest of the family or in Ravenclaw, something Mel was quite heavily betting on. But as things went he ran into that spoiled brat that I allowed Euphemia and Fleamont to raise without my supervision. Another mistake of mine," he sighed and grimaced. "Not that James was a particularly bad boy, mind you. Bright, magically talented but short-sighted, not only physically but also intellectually."

"Is that why you hate him?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"I didn't hate him," objected Arcturus before he sighed. "I can't make you understand my complicated relationship with the Potters without backtracking a bit from our current subject."

"I have a lot of time," said Hermione simply.

"Well then," agreed Arcturus as he let go of her hands and leaned back in his armchair. "I first encountered that smarmy, arrogant git known as Charlus Potter at a really turbulent time in my life while my cousin was making designs that could affect not only his own son's life but also that of mine. So I let a lot of things slide while I was trying to prevent what I perceived as a disaster. Dorea, my cousin whom this story concerns, was at the time living with her mother and my ailing aunt away from her brother. At one of the disaster averting meetings Potter was introduced to me as my Aunt's business partner, an owner of a Potter Potion Making Beautifying Emporium or was it Potter Beautifying Emporium," he grimaced. "Either of the two, not that it really matters in the end. Point is potion making was what he was into even though he himself hadn't done a lot of it. The company was conceived by his grandfather and at the time was undergoing a change in ownership. My senile Aunt Violetta, Dorea and Pollux's mother, saw it as a business opportunity, but since it was her own dowry she was standing to lose if things went south I didn't pay the lad too much attention. Had I been less arrogant or less worried about my son maybe I would be able to see through Potter's quite predictable plan."

"There was a dowry involved," guessed Hermione.

"And a quite handsome sum too," added Arcturus with a snort. "Enough to cover his gambling debts and give them and the old Potters enough to get by for a couple of years, provided that he wouldn't gamble that too," he said with a grimace. "So they got married and moved in with the Potters, the lad signed a marriage contract, an amended version from the usual one generation of primacy to two."

"Primacy?" asked Hermione.

"The right which gave me or any Head of the Black family the power to decide what would become of the heirs of their marriage union. Depending on the family to which our daughters or sisters married, the primacy extended to one generation and didn't affect their lives much. We've been using it for so long that many families eventually accepted the small loss of control over their sons or daughters for the price of connection or gold," said Arcturus with a grimace. "The primacy in the Potters case I extended immediately to two generations, and for some time had even been toying with the idea of three generations. I just really didn't like that smarmy git even though I couldn't really put my finger on it. The Potters, even though they lost their Wizengamot seat had many allies amongst the liberal members of it, and people of quite some power on that. And they were purebloods so breaking their courtship and forbidding their marriage from taking place wasn't a particularly bright move to make. Then there was the possibility of elopement which would really screw me over and out of money and control over their heirs, so I gritted my teeth and even wished them well."

"Surely it must have been a chore," deadpanned Hermione.

"It bloody was," snorted Arcturus. "A wedding union between an idiot and a dowry hunter arranged by a senile Bulstrode, with hostile in-laws worried that someone would poison their precious scheming progeny, my daughter-in-law constantly throwing up sometimes into appropriate places like a bin and sometimes into a punch bowl and I had to officiate it. It was a June wedding and Lucy, Iggy and Druella were allergic to pollen so almost every single bloody sentence was punctuated by someone's sneeze. On top of that my brother and my sister decided that they wouldn't be able to get through that travesty sober and got themselves drunk, on bloody gin which always made Cora giggly and Regulus weepy. Cassiopeia somehow managed to get herself stoned on Regulus's opium and when she wasn't snoring loud enough to startle the bloody fucking peacocks that Aunt Violetta borrowed from the bloody fucking Malfoys, which we had to invite to that stupid wedding, she was screaming at motherfucking imaginary dragons. It's an effing miracle that I didn't murder someone starting with the fucking best man because in the middle of exchanging vows he realised that he left the wedding rings in his other trousers," he relied sourly. "And let's not forget the kids. Bella somehow manged to strip the bridesmaid, her own mother, from the skirt of her dress while they were walking towards the altar, Andromeda wailed as loudly as the fucking peacocks and some idiot slipped Narcissa a hiccup inducing potion instead of a stomach soother, so that one was hiccupping and throwing up with the same frequency as my daughter-in-law."

Hermione that by the time Arcturus described throwing up Wally was trying to supress a smile, lost the ability to control her face by the time he got to the pollen and by the time he got to the bloody peacocks was snickering uncontrollably.

"At least it was unforgettable," she choked out when he finally finished.

"Unforgettable in all of it was my wife, the oasis in the desert of chaos, the eye in the storm," said Arcturus wistfully. "She ran interference with all the parties while everyone was losing their shit. At the very least she kept Fleamont from murdering Abraxas for saying that he imagined that a wife of a man who ran a beautifying emporium would look beautiful. Poor Euphemia was allergic to magnolias which were used quite extensively in the decorations and she was all red and so swollen that Mel had to alter her dress," he added and shook his head.

"She sounds great," admitted Hermione.

"She was," sighed Arcturus heavily. "I knew the moment I saw her in my first Ancient Runes class that she was it for me. Bright, beautiful, outspoken, caring. I would have loved to introduce you two. She adored Miranda from the very beginning and…" he shook his head.

"She's dead," whispered Hermione.

"No," sighed Arcturus as he shook his head. "She's still alive but as good as dead. The stroke she suffered didn't kill her, but for a while it was a touch and go. Eventually her condition stabilised and I was able to take her home. For many years she remained bedridden but with diligent help of the elves who always loved her to pieces she regained a limited mobility, but while she physically recovered, mentally the woman I knew and loved is long gone. She speaks very little and almost exclusively gibberish, has no memory of her life before the stroke even though on certain instinctual level she recognises some things as familiar, like embroidering, it's her favourite pastime aside of listening to stories and playing piano."

"I'm sorry," whispered Hermione.

"Don't be," said Arcturus softly. "She lived a long and happy life in which she loved and was loved in return. She saw her babies turn into adults and saw their own babies turn from babies into men…" he paused briefly. "And I still love her, I will continue to love her for as long as I can still draw my breath. If there's any advice I can offer you on that subject, don't settle for less than that if you ever decide to settle down. Sit your man," he paused briefly, "or your woman and ask them what would they do if you were incapacitated in any way, ask yourself what you would do if it was them instead of you."

"What happened after the wedding?" asked Hermione pensively.

"Nothing particularly worrisome," said Arcturus with a shrug. "A honeymoon that concluded with a 'we're expecting' announcement, and then that twerp went to the states and got himself killed there. So I sent a letter to Dorea and got one in return, as well as Fleamont and Euphemia's visit to the manor and a bloody nose for my trouble. Apparently their son decided to not inform them about the primacy clause in the marriage contract. Supposedly my fault," he snorted. "I set them straight and informed them that I will follow Dorea's will on the subject and she asked me to allow her to remain with them. That calmed them down and Fleamont even apologised for punching me. I really should have punched him back," he added sourly.

"And then?" pressed Hermione.

"Then Dorea's pregnancy concluded in the birth of one James Charlus Potter. She remained with them just long enough to recover from the birth before she hared out to who the fuck knew where. The United States most likely. So the old Potters had found themselves with a dead son, runaway daughter-in-law and a little baby to take care of," he explained. "They begged me to allow them to raise the boy and I conceded, I pitied them for their loss and I had no interest in taking the boy away from them. By the time James was born Sirius was already in the world for a couple of months and although quite sickly as an infant he was also very resilient in puling through one sickness after another. He was my primary concern and I saw no harm in allowing them to raise their grandson."

"But," interjected Hermione.

"It took many years before I realised that I should have run some sort of interference in raising the boy. Like his father before him James grew up spoiled and wanting nothing. Unlike his father however he was raised in a pretty narrow minded manner of a black and white morality. Dark Arts were bad, even mentions of Dark Arts were bad, and everyone who knew more than what was required for them to pass the defence course was bad. One schoolmate of theirs suffered quite badly because of that," said Arcturus and he grimaced.

"Severus Snape by any chance?" asked Hermione with a grimace of her own.

"A personal nemesis of James and by extension Sirius from as early as the Hogwarts Express. A son of the runaway daughter of the Princes, a half-blood, Muggle father, lousy drunkard, neglectful and abused mother. I met him a couple of times, mostly through Regulus. Highly intelligent, powerful for his age, arrogant and craving recognition at the same time. Supposedly as well-versed in Dark Arts as Sirius but without Sirius's upbringing, no wonder that those two got along like fire and ice, they were too much alike to stand each other, and then there was that Muggleborn friend of Snape's. A childhood friend from what I know, Lily Evans, insanely bright and talented. Potter fell for her like a plum into a plum pie, but she wouldn't have given him a minute of her day until Snape managed to screw up their friendship by calling her a Mudblood," said Arcturus with a grimace. "Well, the boot and we're not friends anymore is what he got for that, and in that Potter saw his chance. Because if those two had remained friends Potter could only pine after her from afar."

"Back up a bit," said Hermione quickly. "Snape was friends with Lily who eventually became Lily Potter? How did this happen?"

"According to Regulus, and he wasn't exactly a reliable source of information seeing that he was very much interested in keeping both of them separated as he had a vast interest in seducing Snape with his charms," said Arcturus.

"Stop," hissed Hermione.

"A boarding school full of hormonal teenagers what were you expecting my dear?" asked Arcturus simply. "Regulus was as gay as his namesake, at the very least I never saw him that much invested in any girl as he was in Snape. Sirius too and by too I mean was very much interested in a boy but not Snape in particular. James was the object of his teenage affection, probably because upon reuniting with Miranda at Hogwarts he received marching orders, because if there was one thing your Aunt couldn't stomach it was bullies, which Sirius managed to prove himself to be by the time he came to her, after the end of their first week at Hogwarts. That much of a hellion he was and because he was a scorned hellion with pride and she was prejudiced he found himself a new object for his affections, who in turn had his own object of affections who was also an object of someone else's affection."

"Let me get this straight. Regulus pined after Snape who just like James pined after Lily who by your accounts didn't pine after anyone. Then there was Miranda who," she paused as she looked at him expectantly.

"Who pined after the boy she scorned who in turn decided to pine after James who pined after Lily, then throw into it the other friends of James's, Pettigrew that pined after James too, albeit in a more restrained and platonic manner from what I heard, and that, what was his name, Lupin who in turn pined after Sirius. Either way there was a lot of pining going on at some point," explained Arcturus.

"And they didn't try to kill each other?" asked Hermione incredulously.

"According to Miranda not a week went by when she didn't want to punch either James or Sirius in the teeth. James and Sirius, with occasional help from Lupin and Pettigrew hexed Snape mercilessly, who gave them back as good as he got with a little help from Lily until he screwed that one up. Their fifth year was a hell," finished Arcturus sourly. "Not a week went by without an owl from Hogwarts, and then Sirius decided to feed Snape to Lupin and it's a bloody miracle that no one actually died."

"Why would Sirius do that? Was Lupin a cannibal?" she asked sceptically.

"No, he was a werewolf," replied Arcturus dryly. "Dumbledore's way to swindle quite a substantial amount of money from the board of governors, but I managed to put an end to that. Didn't even know that it was Lupin until I had to smooth Snape's ruffled feathers and bribe him into not pressing charges for what actually was an attempted murder. How I hadn't gone grey that week is a blood miracle," he snorted.

"And Snape accepted the bribe?" asked Hermione incredulously.

"Absentee mother who eventually ran away from her husband a year prior to that incident if not earlier, abusive and neglectful father, ambition to get himself away from that place and to achieve something in life. He would have settled for less than he got and I know that it founded a lions share of his advanced masteries," answered Arcturus grimly.

"And Sirius? Was he expelled from Hogwarts?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Luckily for him, no," said Arcturus with a grimace. "He was allowed to finish his advanced studies at Hogwarts on the grounds that if he put even a millimetre of his toe past the very tightly settled lines he would be expelled from school no questions asked. He was immediately taken out of Hogwarts for the remainder of the semester and spent a week at home with Orion."

"That couldn't have ended well," muttered Hermione.

"It did not," replied Arcturus grimly. "The letter that I received from Euphemia claimed that on his way to their place he got himself in a scuffle with some Muggle fuckwits that wanted to relieve him from money and while I initially bought that, I know now that it wasn't what had happened."

"It was Orion," whispered Hermione.

Arcturus nodded before he continued, "He spent the summer with the Potters and while he managed to evade James's questions as to why he would have done such a thing, at some point he admitted that in some murky way, I'm not exactly certain how, it was related to the affection he had for James that went beyond the limits of friendship. James acted like all straight boys do when they're confronted with homosexual interest of their mates, told him off and afterwards avoided both Sirius and the issue. At some point it became unbearable for Sirius to even be with him in the same house so he spent his days in Diagon Alley where Miranda had found him sans his usual entourage."

"And then what?" asked Hermione curiously.

"She did what all of us should have done and instead of asking questions she listened reserving her judgement until he had nothing more to say. She sorted him out, both his head and his mangled heart. The man he became once he grew up he became because someone listened to him and still found him worthy of interest afterwards. That was all that he needed, a friend that cared for him rather than benefited from his intellect or his talents. Sadly at that age James as a friend had nothing to offer him. Then there was the fall out with the rest of the group. Somewhat justified on Lupin's behalf but James and Pettigrew too eagerly fell in line behind him. It served Sirius well, he matured, he concentrated on his studies and plans for the future, spent more time around level-headed people, followed all the conditions that were set before him and somewhere along the way he fell in love with Miranda again. Not in the teenage, hormonal obsession with image of her but the actual young woman that helped him centre himself, so did she. They found strength and motivation in each other. Happens in people of similar experiences and her life too wasn't filled with roses."

"What became of her after the fire?" asked Hermione softly.

"Never admitted what happened before she was found by the Muggle police, but under a changed name from Miranda to Mirzam she was turned over to a friend of old Mrs Black, Immaculada Diaz and her brother Clemente Verascez. They adopted her and had given her the name under which she appeared at Hogwarts. It wasn't a happy home, she was taken in for the money that old Mrs Black left her and abused verbally and physically by both, and sexually by him. The beginning of the summer after her fourth year she spent with a friend of hers and her family without consulting the plans with them but unfortunately due to their travel plans she was forced to return home eventually," explained Arcturus grimly. "The welcoming committee much like Sirius's consisted from continued abuse that went on for a couple of days before she had a chance to slip out. Some good people found her wondering the streets and while she collapsed she luckily regained consciousness while she was being treated and firmly instructed her doctors to not inform her guardians. They were both arrested and put on trial and the lawyer that lead her case was supposedly a ferocious fellow that not only won her case but claimed their meagre fortune as a restitution for what she suffered."

"That poor thing," whispered Hermione softly.

"She would have scoffed at you for saying that before she would have given me an earful for telling all of this to you," admitted Arcturus with a sigh. "She was a survivor and in her continued survival she found the inner strength to continue going through the darkest periods of her life with her head held high. She abhorred the pity of others and had no time for self-pity. She grew from a turbulent, angry, neglected child into a grieving, abused teenager that turned against her abusers with all the ferocity of her grief and anger. Seeing them punished had helped her a lot. It quieted her down and allowed her to settle into a future that finally didn't look bleak. She devoted herself to her friends and found herself caring for those that had no one to take care of themselves. She learned how to forgive a lot if she found in someone even an inkling of repentance. My grandsons both loved her for that, each in his own way."

"Both?" asked Hermione, feeling a hint of recognition as if there was something that she should remember.

"Yes," nodded Arcturus.

"Sister Mine," whispered Hermione. "I trust that this letter will find you and my brother in good health," she added trying to recall words from the letter. "But that doesn't make sense, it was sent after she died and wasn't he supposed to be deceased by that point for a couple of years too," she muttered more to herself than to Arcturus.

"Ah, so you found my wayward grandson," said Arcturus dryly.

"More like found the bloody PO Box he used way back in the eighties," replied Hermione with a snort. "Wasn't he supposed to be dead?" she asked suspiciously.

"He is better off dead," admitted Arcturus with a shrug. "Got himself in some very nasty business, tried to remedy that with Miranda's help and then he bloody died of all things," he snorted. "A couple of days before her death she just appeared in the manor, asked us to accompany her without protest or asking questions. Then she brought us to a Muggle hospital where our supposedly dead grandson was lying in coma. Talk about feeling about to be knocked down with a feather, on the top of finding out that she was carrying our great-grandson and still actively working. Funny couple of hours it had been, we really should have invited Sirius along but that ship had sailed and afterwards there was no point in opening that wound."

"And then what?" asked Hermione sceptically. "You brought him home too?"

"Mel and I considered it briefly but we decided against that. He was in coma, that meant all around the clock care on the level of detail we wouldn't be able to provide without help. Then there was his status in the wizarding world. He was a marked Death Eater, young and freshly out of school but still accountable of several crimes of which murder was only one of them. Miranda vouched for him and claimed that he saw the light, but the Dark Lord wasn't exactly someone to whom one dared to hand a resignation letter. So instead of doing that, without getting into much detail with Miranda, he decided to fuck up some of his nefarious plans and instead of doing that, he fucked himself up quite badly," replied Arcturus stiffly. "Aside from all of that there was his overall condition. He was repeatedly scanned for the condition of his magic, by me, Mel and Miranda, separately and together but each scan showed lack of magic. Whatever fucked him up, instead of killing him rendered him into a squib. Had he still had his magic then maybe we would have considered taking him in but with all of this he was really better off under the care of Muggle doctors that looked after him around the clock," he added earnestly.

"Well, he woke up eventually," pointed out Hermione grimly. "What he's up to now?"

"He spent a better part of the last decade passive-aggressively reminding me of my obligations towards the house of Potter via mail," replied Arcturus with a grimace. "He stopped doing that after I officially died, but to this day he remains Harrison's personal watchdog and quite a thorn in Dumbledore's side."

"Why?" asked Hermione incredulously.

"Because like me, he recognises Harrison Potter as a part of the Black family and unlike me he isn't tied up by Dumbledore in carrying out the familial obligations. If you asked your friend about his primary school years I'm quite sure that amongst his past teachers you would have found a man fitting the description of my supposedly dead grandson," replied Arcturus with a small smirk.

"Why would Dumbledore tie you up from carrying out familial obligations? What does he stand to benefit from that? Why did you even listen to him?" asked Hermione breathlessly.

"Glad you asked," replied Arcturus. "But before I will get down to that allow me to hydrate myself, I'm feeling a bit parched and this bit will take a lot of talking."

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** Arcturus shares what he knows. Part 2: Dumbledore.


	14. 8th July 1993 p. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcturus talks with Hermione about Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 8700.
> 
> **AN:** I had great fun writing this chapter because as serious as it is Arcturus keeps it funny (depending from the point of view). It's a necessary moment of levity between two very emotional chapters. And there are only four chapters left. Like I already promised Hermione gets her retribution for chapters 13, 14 and 15 in chapter 16.
> 
> **The story updates on Tuesday and Thursday.**
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen**

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter fourteen: 8th July 1993**

_8th July 1993, 39 Grimmauld Place, London_

Arcturus directed her towards the kitchen at the end of the hall, and once there to the table right on the opposite side to the door. The room was painted in a pale yellow colour with white trimmings and accents. The cupboards, just like the table and chairs, were white, and surprisingly the kitchen was filled with Muggle appliances. There was a fridge of modest size like the one in Hermione's own kitchen, a big stove with couple of ovens, and next to the sink by the windows she spotted a modest sized dishwasher, Mum's dream for which she was constantly saving money, but she always kept finding things that were more important than buying one.

While Hermione seated herself at the table, on the comfortable and invitingly looking window seat that was filled with pillows, Arcturus headed towards the kitchen and with an ease that seemed quite weird of a man of his age and upbringing in such typically Muggle place he prepared a pot of tea.

"So what do you have against Dumbledore?" asked Hermione curiously once Arcturus placed a tray with a pot and cups on the table and seated himself on the opposite side of the table to Hermione.

"Doctor it to your own liking," he said simply before he poured himself a cup and added a spoonful of sugar. Then he sighed quite heavily before he finally muttered, "It's more like what I don't have against Dumbledore."

"But he's Dumbledore," protested Hermione, without much of a heat, the idea of Dumbledore hiding a godfather from Harry didn't sit very well with her amongst other things she resolutely decided not to think about at the moment.

"And therein lies the problem," replied Arcturus grimly. "But in order to understand my complicated feelings towards the Headmaster first we need to travel back in time to the turn of century. Albus was the classmate of an uncle of mine, Phineas Black and while they ran in different circles as classmates often do, they were aware of each other and each other's connections. Albus was the oldest of three children of Percival and Kendra Dumbledore, an old pureblood and a supposed Muggleborn."

"Supposed?" asked Hermione sceptically. "You mean that she tried to pass as someone of magical ancestry?"

"As she had a right to do," said Arcturus with a nod. "I'm uncertain of her actual roots but when pressed my grandfather admitted that as a student Kendra although of Muggle surname and background showed signs of magic that was particular to members of a died out house of de Caprice. The last known descendants of it were two squibs so it's highly possible that one of them might have father one of Kendra's ancestors although I have no idea which one nor have I devoted my time and attention to finding that out. Her heritage doesn't really matter as much as her children. Three of them she had, Albus, Aberforth and Ariana, roughly two years apart between each other. When Ariana was six she was viciously attacked by three Muggle boys for doing accidental magic in front of them. I'm uncertain of the extent of the trauma she suffered other than that her condition afterwards was so severe that Percival, abandoning all of the sense and sensibility of a wizard of his upbringing had went after them in a savage and well-publicised attack that was considered as an act of prejudice against Muggles. For that he was sentenced to a life sentence in Azkaban where he eventually died."

"And their children?" asked Hermione pensively.

"Kendra moved them away to Godric's Hollow, a wizarding enclave in the West Country. It was never a purely wizarding village but the ratio of wizards to Muggles was always skewed heavily in the favour of the former. The Muggles of the area however never found their magical neighbours threatening so they only considered them as slightly barmy but helpful when one required assistance of doctors or builders or whatever. Not that it mattered to Kendra. What I think mattered to her was that her family was unknown in that part of the country and that she could raise her children there without being judged for her husband's actions. She went as far as rebuffing the efforts of the most of her neighbours in allowing them to befriend the family and as far as I can tell she only had one close confidant there, Bathilda Bagshot."

"Wait, do you mean Bathilda Bagshot, the author of History of Magic?" asked Hermione curiously.

"The same one," nodded Arcturus. "The old bat is still alive even," he added with a grimace. "Completely batty though, has been for a while. Reliable for talking about stuff that happened fifty or more years ago but any closer than that the more senile her ramblings get. Believe me I tried."

"Why?" asked Hermione.

"Because I was looking for dirt on Dumbledore," replied Arcturus grimly. "Something which I considered as necessary even when I was still rather young. I heard many stories from Uncle Phineas about Albus. Even as a child of your age he was quite bright and powerful, a house-misplaced Ravenclaw, as my Uncle believed him to be, while my Grandfather and his Headmaster considered him as a house-misplaced Slytherin. He was insanely bright, very powerful for his age and very ambitious, on top of that he had a clout that his parents had lacked and was capable of easily securing a favour with everyone and their house-elves. And that was when he still was a student so my family quite diligently paid attention to him because he always seemed like someone who would end up making a mark on this century."

"Well, he has," admitted Hermione.

"Eventually," snorted Arcturus. "As a relatively fresh graduate of Hogwarts I was given by my father the responsibilities that he despised. One of them was the family seat in Hogwarts's Board of Governors. During my Grandfather's tenure as Headmaster I was all but a regular member of the board until the very last term of his tenure. You see, Hogwarts's Board of Governors is a body whose primary job is keeping a leash on whichever Headmaster or Headmistress that helms the school. It consists of twelve people but there are three, four members that have an actual saying in how the school is run. One of them is the Head of the Board, their responsibility is dealing with the Ministry of Magic on the subject of magical education, and ever since I can remember it has always been led by an idiot with very little clout, as was the position of the Deputy, also handed to bumbling idiots. The remaining two are the Secretary, a position that for many years remained in the hands of people that could quote laws and decrees regarding magical schooling. In my days it was in the hands of Damocles Greengrass, an acquaintance, and a very, very, very distant relative of mine. Then there's position of Treasurer, that in my days, as a regular member of the board had been passed around like a hot coal until I applied for it."

"And?" asked Hermione.

"Then I realised why it was such an unpopular position," replied Arcturus dryly. "All hard work and no prestige on the top of regularly dealing with a Headmaster or Headmistress. My Grandfather during his tenure was a decent manager, the budget was the law and because the budget was shitty he therefore gained the notoriety of the Worst Headmaster that Hogwarts has had. He believed that Hogwarts shouldn't look for alternative funding other than what it received from the Ministry, private donors or from accepting Muggleborn students. That was another thing for which he gained his moniker. Upon Damocles's pressing he eventually conceded to allow the entrance of one Muggleborn per year free of charge provided that the child showed a promise via evaluation received by both their Muggle and also Hogwarts's teachers."

"Why would he do that?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Pureblood," said Arcturus with a shrug. "A very status conscious pureblood that believed that Hogwarts should accept only those Muggleborn students that could either afford the schooling or showed enough promise that they could continue being funded by the Support for Muggleborns Committee. The statute of Hogwarts demands that the Headmaster or Headmistress accept every student that applies for Hogwarts as their school, Muggleborns included, but the statute also allows feeing them, their parents to be precise, for finding placement for students that have no familial connections to Hogwarts graduates. The Committee when it was first initiated was a response to what they perceived as a too hefty cost of schooling, it used to run on donations, very little on Ministerial donation and far more heavily on donations from citizens, most often former graduates of similar background. But they could never afford supporting more than five Muggleborns per each class when they were at their best and at their worst they could only support one such a student per year."

"What about the others?" asked Hermione grimly. "Were they thrown into the Forbidden Forest?"

"No," snorted Arcturus. "The families of those that could afford it paid for the schooling of their children, those that showed promise in any field found the support of their teachers in finding donations. Aidan O'Leary was such a student. He came from a poor Muggle family but from the first year he showed a lot of promise in the field of Herbology, but somehow he managed to slip through the cracks of the system as another far more promising student had received the support of the Committee at the time. However with the support of his Herbology teacher he received funding from private benefactors."

"What about those that couldn't afford it?" asked Hermione.

"Well, they finished their first year at Hogwarts, but if they were mediocre students and not socially smart enough to secure connections with any family that was willing to contribute to funding their schooling, they eventually had to be reassigned to the other schools. Another thing for which my grandfather gained his moniker," said Arcturus and he grimaced.

"So if I was at Hogwarts at the time and I failed to come on top of my classes and then if I failed to secure a benefactor I would have been simply relegated from the school to a different one?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"No," replied Arcturus. "If we're treating you like you would have been treated a century ago you would belong to the list of named beneficiaries. The cost of your Hogwarts schooling has been paid in advance by Miranda…

"Wait," Hermione interrupted him. "My parents are paying the Hogwarts fees," she protested.

"Do they?" asked Arcturus sceptically.

"Yes," said Hermione quickly. "Dad was a bit taken aback by the cost but they're paying the whole thing. Five hundred galleons per year."

"Interesting," muttered Arcturus.

"Why are they paying if I'm a named beneficiary?" she asked sceptically.

"An excellent question," said Arcturus sourly. "But before I will try to answer let me come back to my dealings…"

"Do we have to?" she asked pointedly.

"It will make more sense if I first finish that and then answer your question," he replied and after she nodded slowly he continued. "My Grandfather as a Headmaster and for many years prior, member of the Board of Governors, always believed that Hogwarts should be completely Ministry founded and the only wizarding school in the realm. He was a frugal administrative, too frugal even, till the point of whispers being made that the only reason why teachers weren't getting their raises was because he was squirreling something on the side for himself. That, wasn't true because his problem lay elsewhere, he simply was against treating Hogwarts as a company that should generate an income. It was a bone of contention between the two of us for many years that eventually culminated in his announcement that he would retire once the school year would finish. He was eventually replaced by Armando Dippet, a good teacher and decent administrative far more open to my suggestions. Under his command Hogwarts underwent a major change in budget and little by little started funding itself. It wasn't much, mind you, but compared to my Grandfather it was a vast improvement, and Dippet had enough clout to put his foot down when necessary. The Ministry wants to borrow something from Hogwarts? Sure we can do that, for a fee. What? You were never asked for a fee before? Well that's too bad, so either improve Hogwarts's funding or pay for borrowing what you want."

"How much of that was really Dippet and how much was you?" asked Hermione pensively.

"In the beginning?" asked Arcturus sheepishly. "It was me, Dippet was a decent administrative but no genius. He learned fast though and required onl minimal coaching. He quickly saw that supplementing Hogwarts's budget improved the mood of his teachers. Potions and Herbology in particular benefited from his approach. Then there was his unofficial Deputy Headmaster, our Head of House, Horace Slughorn, a man of many connections and a sixth sense for acquiring funding."

"Why unofficial though?" interrupted him Hermione.

"Because he loved the perks but hated the hard work. That was given to the official Deputy, Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore dealt with administrative side of the equation while Slughorn handled the social side. He was a miracle worker that wrangled out of the Ministry the support for Third Class masteries, something which sadly went away from Hogwarts with him. Granted only the best and most dedicated students could apply and graduate from that, but over the years he spent at Hogwarts he had built quite a network of very grateful students."

"And Dumbledore?" asked Hermione pointedly.

"I will have to give him that," said Arcturus sourly. "Dumbledore was a very good professor and due to his talents he was one of Dippet's treasures. A one man orchestra whose talents had stretched over all the core classes, he could substitute for any teacher from those subjects. He had a sixth sense for approaching every class and was a very benevolent and forgiving Head of the House."

"That's good, isn't it?" asked Hermione.

"It's neither good or bad," said Arcturus with a grimace. "At the very least it has gained him quite a following of very obliged and grateful former students over the years. Dippet recommended both him and Slughorn for the position to the board when he started talking about retiring, many years before he actually did so. Slughorn point blank refused. He liked social acclaim but hated administrative work, he always felt more at ease as a grey eminency rather than a man in charge. Can't fault him for that really. Then there was the whole business with destroying Grindelwald, and by the time Dippet actually retired Dumbledore was widely considered as his most likely successor."

"Which you didn't like," interjected Hermione.

"It's not a matter of liking as much as wariness, Hermione," replied Arcturus stiffly. "I didn't know him all that well and the things I did know about him made me wary of the man. He point blank refused the offer of becoming the next Minister for Magic but he didn't refuse the Wizengamot seat that was also offered. For a man that claimed that he didn't want political power he quite quickly made his way from a regular member through key positions in Wizengamot until he was elected as my contra-candidate in the elections for Chief Warlock. A job I coveted not only for its own splendour but for my vision of the reforms."

"Then why you didn't run for it?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Problems of personal nature," said Arcturus with a grimace. "They showed me quite keenly that while I was ready for the reforms my family was not."

"Why?" pressed Hermione.

"My father was an elitist, he never publicly supported Grindelwald but his ideas were right up my father's alley," said Arcturus grimly. "He believed in the superiority of wizardfolk over Muggles, and as a pureblood he believed in the superiority of those of magical ancestry over those that didn't have one. And while I was raised as an elitist I was blessed with securing the affection of a woman of a noble ancestry for my family bloodline and less regarded egalitarian beliefs. Granted it took her a lot of time to convert me completely but at the time when talks of the upcoming election rolled around I was ready. However in my arrogance I failed to realise that while I was an egalitarian my family was not, what was even worse at the time, I had no heir that would eventually take over my position."

"Because you didn't trust Orion," said Hermione with a nod.

"Not with this, not without eventually undermining everything I would have worked towards, and then there was the Dark Lord," he said with a grimace.

"How did you find him?" asked Hermione curiously.

"On our first meeting, way before he had risen in power, I found him an interesting individual of considerable talent but too little political value. Then there were his ideas which weren't up my alley so I point blank refused to support him. Told him that he was a man of too little political value. The mistake that I made in my arrogance was telling him to come back when he had more to show for than his own talents," said Arcturus and he reached for his tea before he took a very long sip.

"And he took it as an invitation," said Hermione.

"Unfortunately," said Arcturus grimly. "By the time he returned to darken my doorstep he was a man of many connections with quite a following. However, he petitioned for a private audience and I reluctantly granted him that. Luckily for me, as rotten as he already was at the time, he was conscious of where he was and with whom. He knew that if he tried to do something in my own house the wards of the manor would have fried him on the spot. That's why I felt comfortable with telling him no once more, and once again I fell victim to my own arrogance. During the meeting I led him to believe that I would eventually support him and take his mark if he managed to convince the entire family to do so."

"And how did that work out for you?" asked Hermione with a barely suppressed snort.

Instead of answering Arcturus removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeve of the left arm of his shirt. His skin was pale and unmarred by anything. Apparently the gesture was supposed to mean something but Hermione wasn't sure what it was.

"No mark," said Arcturus in clarification. "Luckily for me the Dark Lord proved to be a misogynist, and while he hadn't failed in securing the loyalty of my cousin and his son he had failed to take into account that when I said the entire family I meant the entire family. I could and was prepared to play this game forever. Not that it didn't come back to bite me eventually. As the years passed the Dark Lord secured the devotion of Bella, easily achieved really, as madness gravitates towards madness. But Regulus," he paused and sighed heavily, "I was so ashamed of him when I saw the mark on his skin."

"And Sirius?" asked Hermione pointedly.

"Not marked either," replied Arcturus.

"Impossible," protested Hermione. "He sold the Potters to Vol- the Dark Lord, he murdered their friend and twelve innocent people."

"Debatable," snorted Arcturus. "And we will come back to that once we're done with Dumbledore."

"You're unbelievable," snorted Hermione.

"No, I just like cleaning up one mess at the time. It's more thorough that way," replied Arcturus with a small smirk. "Where I was? Ah, Dumbledore's rise in political power," he added pensively. "Not something that sit very well with me since I was always a firm believer that a man with one head shouldn't acquire too many hats. Burdening someone with too many responsibilities has never done anyone any good. Dippet was as much of a politician as long as Hogwarts business was concerned. Aside from being better than my grandfather was at the job he wanted no more recognition. He liked his work, his colleagues, he did a lot of good for Hogwarts."

"And Dumbledore?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Dumbledore received the honour early in January of 1965 while he was already Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, a deputy position to the Supreme Mugwump which he also received a couple years later. He was a recipient of an Order of Merlin, First Class and of similar titles in Germany and France. In January 1957 he turned over his long-standing post of Transfiguration Professor to Minerva McGonagall and instead took over Professor Stuart Terralot's post. Terralot was a replacement of Professor Merrythought, a widely regarded and acclaimed Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. Stu while a decent instructor couldn't really measure up, neither with his predecessor or replacement, then there was his most unfortunate flaw…"

"Let me guess, stutter?" asked Hermione pensively.

"How did you know?" asked Arcturus with a small smirk.

"Stu Terralot," said Hermione with a snort.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Arcturus dryly. "The Terralots were an ancient and noble family from Italy whose younger son had fallen in love with Margaret Macmillan, a distant cousin of my wife. Stuart was her baby brother's name, poor thing died couple of days after he was born and Margaret wanted to honour the memory of him by naming her son Stuart."

"Yeah, right," muttered Hermione.

"I kid you not," said Arcturus with a smile. "But yeah, unfortunately he did stutter, and a lot at that, so everybody was relieved when he accepted a position as an Unspeakable in the Ministry of Magic leaving the post empty."

"For Dumbledore," said Hermione with a nod.

"For anyone willing to take it," said Arcturus with a shrug. "Whoever accepted the position had quite big shoes to fill. Merrythought taught at Hogwarts for fifty years, and from under her wings flew out many competent Aurors, Hit-wizards and Unspeakables. Dumbledore wasn't the only candidate that Dippet had for the post but as a former student of Merrythought and defeater of Grindelwald he was the best one."

"So all of that worked in his favour when Dippet eventually retired," said Hermione.

"Yes, it did," said Arcturus with a grimace. "It's the Minister for Magic that appoints the Headmaster of Hogwarts, but aside of their own whims they tend to rely on the recommendations from the Board of Governors. The Board, per Dippet's recommendation and against his own wishes had recommended Slughorn as well as Dumbledore. Both received six votes each and we were unable to settle on one."

"Why Slughorn though?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Man of one head and one hat, egalitarian beliefs but not as radically voiced as Dumbledore's, far better at making connections and a financial genius within his own right," replied Arcturus simply. "I wasn't the only person who believed that Dumbledore's other responsibilities would make Hogwarts suffer, and unfortunately we were right. Quite quickly after Dumbledore's appointment it became evident that while he gave Hogwarts the prestige, he did hardly anything else. All administrative matters had quickly befallen on his Deputy, a young and energetic Minerva McGonagall who had taken to additional duties like duck to water. By the time Sirius and the others headed to Hogwarts the lass was a de facto Headmistress of Hogwarts. Unfortunately budget was still something that had to be handled with Dumbledore."

"Which I'm sure provided a lot of tension between you two," commented Hermione.

"Tension just doesn't cover it," said Arcturus with a grimace. "We butted heads over everything. Like his idea to pay the teachers' salary annually, a very stupid idea that I eventually managed to knock out of his head after the grand disaster of seven Defence Against the Dark Arts professors of 1965/66."

"Seven?" whispered Hermione.

"Yup," said Arcturus popping the p with a coy smile. "A retired instructor from Auror Training that decided that teaching children would be less stressful than teaching Aurors. Supposedly a good teacher but not a single student was able to check it out as on the 1st September 1965, a couple of hours after the feast, he suffered a heart-attack so massive that on the morning of 2nd September he had been found dead. Albus, the idiot, paid him for the year in advance. Number two arrived within a week and was a recent graduate from the Second Class Defence Mastery program. A charming young lass that quickly developed a connection with the Head Boy, a very deep connection as it turned out, because in early November it was discovered that she had gotten herself knocked up and upon pressing she admitted whose child it was. So she had gotten the boot as well as a yearly salary. Her replacement, luckily for the female population had no interest in female students but when he was discovered in flagrante delicto with a sixth year Gryffindor prefect, a boy, he had been very sternly advised to resign before the word would get out. He too received the entire salary upon his arrival. Number four arrived over Christmas break. A retired former Auror with a young and already increasing wife, for a change. Two months into his teaching career she gave birth, to quadruplets, and very sternly put her foot down about having her husband help her. So off they went…"

"With the yearly salary," said Hermione with a nod.

"Number five taught only for two weeks before he fell from a moving staircase while he was sleep-walking and broke his neck. He also received the entire salary that was eventually inherited by his mother," said Arcturus sourly. "Number six was some sort of acquaintance of both Dumbledore and Slughorn, but he lasted no more than a month before he disappeared from Hogwarts with the yearly salary and a collection of rare books. Number seven eventually became Dumbledore himself."

"And he awarded himself with the yearly salary for the job," supplied Hermione.

"Yes, he did, and by the time the end of the school year rolled around I managed to successfully convince the board to threaten Dumbledore with a petition to remove him from the position if he wouldn't stop with the nonsense of paying annual salaries upon entrance rather than on a month to month basis. He eventually succumbed and even readily accepted the return of Professor Merrythought. Galatea held that position between the school year of 1966/1967 until the end of the school year of 1971/72 when she announced that this time she was retiring for good and no amount of cajoling and outright bribery would convince her to remain there," said Arcturus and he grimaced before he continued. "Meanwhile Dumbledore found himself another way to swindle money out of the board. The thievery had presented him with quite an excuse. He set himself to secure copies of all of the books that went missing. The board managed to dampen his enthusiasm by donating or lending some of their own copies but some of them had to be purchased eventually."

"And how did that go?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Very well for Dumbledore but not that well for me. When I was presented with figures that Dumbledore supposedly paid for them I was taken aback. You see, they were rare and valuable but considering their age most of them were largely outdated but were kept for the benefit of advanced students and professors themselves. One of them, an old alchemy text, written in a mix of Latin and Gaelic, and in mirror handwriting supposedly cost one thousand galleons. Luckily, as at the time I thought, Dumbledore purchased it from an aspiring potioneer, a younger son of one of the members of the Wizengamot. When I asked the lad himself about the cost of the book he confirmed Dumbledore's version but when I leaned quite heavily on his father he admitted to me during a private conversation that he sold the book for half of the price that Dumbledore claimed to pay," replied Arcturus sourly.

"Did you confront Dumbledore about it?" asked Hermione.

"Obviously," snorted Arcturus. "I was assured that one thousand galleons was what he paid for it and when I arranged a confrontation between the four of us the lad had changed his tune and claimed that he got for it a one thousand galleons."

"Did he?" quipped Hermione.

"Most likely not," said Arcturus with a snort. "I'm uncertain what Dumbledore had on him but quite shortly after the confrontation the lad was offered a teaching position at a renowned, experimental Healer Training in the United States of America and hadn't been back to this side of the Atlantic since," he added sourly. "I could and should have pressed harder but I had other issues at the time and my own actual work. I dismissed it as a solitary incident but I remained quite wary of every financial claim that Dumbledore made since then. Then came the first part of the Lupin debacle, the boy's arrival to Hogwarts. It started in the late winter of 1971 when Dumbledore admitted to the four of us that he planned to invite a werewolf to Hogwarts. He presented a lot of convincing arguments in favour, he told us that the child was of magical descend, one of his parents was a Hogwarts graduate and that preventive measures would be taken to separate the child from other students on the days surrounding the full moon."

"So you conceded," said Hermione.

"Eventually," admitted Arcturus with a sigh. "Under Damocles's advice. We had no grounds to deny the child access to knowledge, not if it wanted to be taught, and not with Dumbledore's assurance that the safety of the other students would be protected. We didn't ask for the name of the child, to not allow personal bias to affect our decision. But the boy's entrance to Hogwarts hung by a thread as soon as Dumbledore had given us the cost of adapting the school to the boy's special needs."

"Let me guess, one thousand galleons?" asked Hermione pointedly.

"How did you guess?" asked Arcturus in mock surprise.

"I had a hunch," she answered with a shrug. "He ended up at Hogwarts so how did you solve that problem?"

"We did not," said Arcturus sourly. "I had. The other three, cowards," he snorted, "immediately decided that suddenly the decision to adapt the school or not belonged to me. Although I was advised by Damocles to consider it in the boy's favour. You see he had a vexed interest in a successful conclusion of that experiment," he added with a grimace.

"What kind of an interest?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Damocles had lost his first, pregnant wife to a werewolf attack that happened just off the grounds of their estate. One would think that such a tragedy would have turned him against the entire population of lycanthropes," replied Arcturus. "Weirdly, it did not. He wasn't very vocal with his beliefs and he was far from being a radical supporter of werewolf rights. However he believed that every case should be considered on individual grounds. Most werewolves live in packs, some younger, some older. Most of the packs aren't problematic. They hold their own territories and they hardly ever leave them. They have their own culture, their own customs and history. They educate their children to the best to their ability. Some of them carry wands but most rely on the wandless magic they or their pack members can produce. They don't bother wizardfolk and most of the wizardfolk don't bother them. The problem are the outcasts, those from the packs hardly ever survive being cast out of the pack. The leaders know that one rebellious pack member can endanger the entire pack so they deal with disobedience with extreme prejudice."

"That's…" started Hermione.

"Harsh but necessary," interrupted her Arcturus sternly. "Consider it from their perspective. One bad apple can spoil the entire basket and one hot-headed idiot is capable of endangering the entire pack. In the face of eradication of the entire community, getting rid of a troublesome individual is the wisest thing they can do. It's not exactly right but it's a lesser evil."

"But?" asked Hermione because she felt one coming.

"The problems arise when one bad apple actually does spoil the entire basket," said Arcturus sourly. "Happens when the pack leader is too old or too frail. A man of charisma and physical strength is capable of poisoning the minds of younglings and threatening the old wolves. Such packs hardly ever live long because if they aren't eradicated by wizards then the surrounding packs take care of the problem. But every once and again you get someone like Fenrir Greyback. A wolf of a taste for human meat and blood, a psychopath that usurped the power of his old pack and led it to its eradication. A survivor of a handful attempts at his life, by both wizards and wolves. He was responsible for many vicious attacks over the years and killed and sired many. Sadly, mostly children. Some, luckily for them were claimed by the packs from the area but some, like Lupin had been, had no support system in the form of a pack. Damocles in them saw a chance for bridging the gap between wizardfolk and lycanthropes."

"And all that he needed was proof that a werewolf child could be taught to become a valuable member of wizarding society," said Hermione with a nod.

"Hence his support for the case," confirmed Arcturus. "He put me in a very tight spot and I had to find a way that would have pleased most of the parties. So I told all of them that I would think about it and that Dumbledore should hold up with delivering the letter until he heard from me. What I had ended up doing pleased most of the parties involved. I took the plan that Dumbledore presented to us and completely removed the costs he claimed were necessary. For a secure location for the boy's transformation he settled on the long unused Huntsman's Cottage, a house located halfway between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, secluded from both. The foundations were stable even though the house was quite old and rickety. But the initial structure was sound and with a little reinforcement it could contain one werewolf inside the house under heavy wards. For that I went to your grandfather to cash out an old favour, I leaned on him quite heavily and offered the supplies he deemed necessary. Anchor stones for the wards came from my own vaults and all the wardwork was done by both of us. I supplied the necessary furniture, not that I expected it to last long but all the kid needed was a bed to collapse into after the transformation. Of that I have no shortage either at the manor or other properties. Once done with the house we built a passage between the house and the school grounds. We found a nice and removed entrance point and procured a guardian that would discourage too curious students from heading down that passage."

"Like say a Whomping Willow?" asked Hermione pensively, convinced that there had to be a reason for the presence of such a weird tree on the grounds.

"An exotic species of fauna which one of my forefathers brought from his voyages. We had an entire copse of those on one of our very rarely used properties, so hardly anyone knew how to neutralise them. We use them in our basket weaving manufacture, it's a relatively small one but has always been very profitable. That particular willow very readily accepts anti-thievery enchantments, and baskets made from it are the most secure ones you can find on the market, even these days," replied Arcturus.

"And here you are, self-advertising," quipped Hermione dryly.

"Well, I can take pride from the fruits of the labour of the companies under my wing. Not that I have ever done any actual basket weaving. That particular honour belongs to Willow and Whomping, the pair of elves that run it along with their children and their grandchildren. They have completely taken over that house over the years and I saw no reason in butting in. Willow leads the company with an iron hand and with my blessing transformed the place from a summer family home into an elven manor with adjacent manufacture, and they were starting off in an old derelict stable," said Arcturus with a smirk.

"You benefit from their work," pointed out Hermione. "What about them? How do they benefit from it?"

"Obviously you don't know Willow," said Arcturus dryly. "One day I will have to introduce you to her, Louise, and Tommy, and many, many others. But not today. Willow always had a nose for business opportunities and was bored to tears with regular duties. So I gave her a free reign of that house because there's nothing worse and more dangerous than a bored and displeased house-elf. She found her calling in basket weaving and maintaining the trees, and with the help of her beloved they worked their way from dropping the labour of their work as a bonus to the merchants to a profitable business that transformed the house into an elven enclave. Per my orders, done on her suggestion, she took in every free elf that wanted to work there, offering them room and board, and when I say room and board I'm not having most common house-elves rooms that you can find all over the wizarding world in mind. No, Willow developed a taste for a certain kind of luxury and the manor reflects that. It's a bit queer but a happy worker is a profitable worker. I profit from their work but so do they, the manufacture grows, so does the house. More rooms mean more working hands, more working hands mean more work done and that means more profit. Not a single wizard aside of me and the manufacture representative are involved and he doesn't even know who the company belongs to. But we're straying a bit too far away from our original subject," he added.

"How did Dumbledore react when he realised that you cheated him out of a nice pile of gold?" asked Hermione quickly.

"Quite predictably he was put out by my scheming but quickly found himself another source of income," replied Arcturus.

"But why would he do that?" asked Hermione sceptically. "What did he stand, and still stands to benefit from his swindles?"

"Other than the obvious?" asked Arcturus with a snort. "He was always a man of an expensive taste, if not in robes then in books or rare ingredients. Then there's the fact that he's a bloody Gryffindor and maybe he sought out a thrill in that. His day jobs are pretty boring and maybe he needs something to amuse himself when he isn't busy with ruining other people's lives. He is a true master of doing that."

"Proof," quipped Hermione.

"A little further along," replied Arcturus. "Where I was?" he muttered. "Oh yeah, the whole Lupin debacle."

"During which your grandson decided to feed a fellow student to a werewolf, transformed werewolf I assume," said Hermione pointedly.

"Yeah," sighed Arcturus heavily. "Even the memory of that gives me a headache," he added with a grimace. "I'm not proud of my own behaviour from that time. But you have to understand that Sirius was my grandson and my heir. There was nothing I wasn't willing to do to save him from himself. Even though he didn't return the sentiment, as was his right to do so," he paused and sighed heavily. "I failed him, Hermione, I failed him when he was a child, I failed him when he was a teenager and I failed him even harder when he was an adult. As a member of the Board of Governors, a body which job is judging whether or not the Headmaster or Headmistress has grounds for expulsion along with Orion I was summoned to Hogwarts as soon as the entire thing was discovered. I was so disappointed in Sirius that I didn't even see him, didn't even stop to ask what he was thinking, if he was thinking at all," he paused and sighed again. "So I sent him home with Orion as soon as I managed to wrestle out of Dumbledore the permission to handle the problem on my own."

"What did you do?" asked Hermione, wondering what lengths Arcturus was capable of going through to protect his grandson, other than those he had already mentioned.

"Like I already said, I found Snape, still in shock, and I very sternly informed him what would happen if he decided to talk with the Aurors. It was his right to do so, after all what Sirius had done was an attempted murder of a fellow student even if I'm not sure he saw it as such. And Morgana preserve me, I chased away the only advocate which that boy had out of the room and told him how their court case would have ended. I told him in no uncertain words that I wouldn't hesitate to do anything to destroy him and instead of justice I offered him financial retribution. He accepted and I made him swear an oath that he won't ever go to any sort of authorities over that incident. Any future misdeeds were his to demand official and legal punishment for, but not this one."

"And he accepted," whispered Hermione.

"Wouldn't you?" asked Arcturus sourly. "He was a pariah even in his own house, the one in which he was raised as well as the one that became his home. His mother was cast out of the House of Prince for marrying his father and by that point already deserted them both. And his father," he grimaced, "was a lousy drunkard that only cared for a full bottle. The only advocate that he had was Slughorn and even then he was quite an unwilling one. Snape was his student but as bright as he was he was also troublesome one. He accepted the price for his life, and like I said, he would have accepted less if I implored a strong enough argument. At the very least he made good use of that money."

"What else he was supposed to do?" Hermione pointed out. "He was still a child for crying out loud and had to be terrified of you."

"If he wasn't when I first entered the room then he sure as hell was when I left it," admitted Arcturus grimly. "But that wasn't the end of my problems. The debate over Lupin's fate went on for a couple of days and the four of us talked in circles. The Head and Deputy wanted to expel him from Hogwarts, Damocles and I countered that he was an unwilling participant in the whole scheme, a tool rather than aid. We eventually settled for allowing him to finish Hogwarts but we agreed that no other attempts at inviting another werewolf to Hogwarts would be made. It was also agreed that as the one responsible for the protective measures concerning the safety of other students when Lupin was transformed I had to pay a restitution to Hogwarts for their failure. Then there came my argument over allowing Sirius to finish his schooling at Hogwarts."

"How much did it cost you?" asked Hermione sourly.

"A massive migraine that didn't go away for days and five thousand galleons for allowing Sirius to finish Hogwarts under very strict conditions, all of which he had to meet otherwise he would be expelled from Hogwarts," replied Arcturus sourly.

"Five thousand galleons?" whispered Hermione.

"We started at ten," replied Arcturus with a snort. "But when I threatened with exposing his swindles he changed his tune quite a bit. If I was less exhausted, in better health and had more patience then I'm sure that I would be able to negotiate no expenses for Sirius's continued education. But I was so done with the whole mess by that time that I settled and oathed for five. I had more pressing problems than mourning the loss of a couple thousands of galleons, and what awaited me upon returning to the manor was a very thorough discussion with my grandson."

"Which I guess didn't happen," muttered Hermione.

"Yes, it did not," sighed Arcturus. "Orion made sure of that," he snorted. "I can't even begin to describe how conflicted I felt over all of it. Attempted murder on another student and then an escape from consequences of his actions and familial responsibilities. He was still my grandson but I was so disappointed in him that it took me a long while to reach out. Justifiably, that much I can tell from a distance and with knowledge of what happened to him, he rebuffed all of the support I offered," he paused and sighed heavily. "I can't imagine how lonely he had to feel back then."

"Still not an excuse for an attempted murder," pointed out Hermione.

"It's not an excuse," replied Arcturus grimly. "All of our actions have motives and in his case everybody judged the action but hadn't asked for the motive, as ridiculous as teenager's motives can get. Mea culpa. My anger at him over the family's dishonour didn't help the matters. Neither did turning him over to his abuser. It's no wonder that he fled, it's only a miracle that he lasted as long as he did, and my own fault that rather than to come to me he fled to someone who deserted him when he was at his most vulnerable. Blessedly he eventually made his way to someone who saw all of him and still found him worthy."

"Why would she do that?" asked Hermione sceptically. "Wouldn't the attempted murder be a big no-no?"

"If attempted murder was something he opened with, probably it would be. Miranda didn't relay their discussion word for word but from what I gathered what he did open to her first was the reason for the lack of his usual entourage. The rest followed later," answered Arcturus and he sighed heavily. "If anyone other than himself saved him back then it was her. She was there when his family deserted him and later on when also his friends did so. In Lupin's case it was justifiable, but Potter and Pettigrew," he paused and snorted. "Cowards both of them."

"Entitled to their own judgement," pointed out Hermione.

"Not exactly judgement of his actions," replied Arcturus. "It wasn't endangering the life of another student that Potter judged him publicly for. Showing his true colours was the phrase he used when asked about it by others. And while it might cover the judgement of Sirius's actions, James's own actions, which was continued abuse of Snape, betrayed where the problem had lain."

"In his un-comfortability with Sirius's sexuality that was focused on himself," said Hermione with a nod.

"Exactly," confirmed Arcturus.

"And Pettigrew?" she asked pensively. "What was his excuse?"

"Judging by his character?" asked Arcturus sourly. "Because Lupin was against continuing their friendship and Potter readily agreed to that. I never directly met Pettigrew in person but I heard about him from many reliable sources. His father was one of them, as was Minerva McGonagall. Old Pettigrew loved the boy dearly but for many years he feared that the boy would end up being a squib in spite of strong magical parentage. He wanted to have the boy evaluated but his wife didn't even want to hear about it and simply believed that their boy was shy…"

"Was he?" interrupted him Hermione sceptically.

"Shy isn't the word I would have used to describe him," said Arcturus with a grimace. "Conscious of his own magical ineptitude fits the description better. Not that it couldn't change in the future. Individual levels of personal magical powers aren't set in stone until magical maturity which happens later in life. Some individuals of very little talent in their childhood and teenage years upon reaching magical maturity gained access to truly impressive levels of magic. As things stood the boy that arrived to Hogwarts had no particular magical talent whatsoever, he struggled with practical magic as much as he struggled with theory, to the point that he had failed his entire first semester and Minerva had to threaten him with holding him back for another first year if his grades and control didn't improve," he added grimly. "Luckily for him he made a friend in Lupin, who was a quite studious and talented lad with, from what I heard, an infinite level of patience. Lupin in turn quickly drew James and Sirius's attention and between the three of them they managed to drag Pettigrew through the first year into second one. They also continued to remain conscious of Pettigrew's issues in the coming years. They offered the boy their friendship and support structure."

"Why do I have a feeling that you don't find it as a good thing?" she asked pensively.

"It was good of them," said Arcturus. "The thing is, I'm an old man and I made my living out of dealing with all kinds of people. Who we surround ourselves with shows as much who we are just as much as our actions do. Pettigrew was a boy of no magical talent, small stature that quickly changed to a rounded one once he was subjected to Hogwarts meals. On his own he avoided altercations in which he readily participated when either of the three of them was in his company. His name on his own appears on detention forms only in case of minor misdeeds. Big stuff on the other hand? If he was involved in anything big his name was always accompanied if not with Potter alone then it was in company of Potter and Black and sometimes, Potter, Black and Lupin."

"And what does it says about his character?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Coward," answered Arcturus with a shrug. "And one aware of his own cowardice enough to secure the protection of the biggest bully. James and Sirius proved themselves to be bullies almost right away and with them sharing the same dormitory Pettigrew quickly became James's yes man and his biggest supporter."

"Only James's?" asked Hermione pointedly.

"You're forgetting that although he was made a Gryffindor at the age of nearing twelve, Sirius undergone eleven years of Slytherin conditioning. A month surrounded with different minded people is not enough to erase that, hell, seven years is not enough to erase that. And Sirius received his observation lessons on people from me. He didn't squander his judgement right away but he was cautious towards people, he was taught to be cautious. Pettigrew, like all cowards could feel that, even if he wasn't consciously aware of Sirius's wariness. Not that it stopped Pettigrew from ensuring some form of loyalty from Sirius through praising him too. Sirius after all was the biggest threat between him and James, and due to that required conviction. Something I'm sure James helped with, as it fed his ego. Then there was Lupin and under peer pressure Sirius succumbed, as he liked the other two far more than he was wary of Pettigrew."

"Did he have a reason?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Considering where he's now and what for?" asked Arcturus sourly.

"Oh, come on, you can't pin the fault of his actions on Pettigrew," protested Hermione with a huff.

"Can't I?" asked Arcturus pointedly.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** Arcturus shares what he knows. Part 3: Sirius.


	15. 8th July 1993 p. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcturus talks with Hermione about Sirius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 10 300.
> 
> **AN:** First off, mea culpa I forgot to post it at the right time. I involved myself into a werewolf issue elsewhere and totally forgot that it was Thursday. But here it is and I promise that the next chapter will be posted on time.
> 
> **The story updates on Tuesday and Thursday.**
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen**

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter fifteen: 8th July 1993**

_8th July 1993, 39 Grimmauld Place, London_

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and hissed through gritted teeth, "Then prove it. Without personal bias."

"You're mistaking my position, my dear," replied Arcturus dryly. "Judging and defending actions is what I have experience in, not prosecuting. In this case I already made my judgement and all that's left for me is defending the man that cannot defend himself. Prosecuting and judging his actions is your job," he added pointedly. "More tea?" he asked as he stood up from the table and headed towards the cooker.

That made Hermione look down at her own cup which had long since gone cold.

"It's not as if I drank any of it," she muttered. "Fine, defender. Who are the character witnesses of the defendant?"

"Are we only discussing the living ones?" asked Arcturus pointedly.

"Well, let me just pop out to a shop so I can find an Ouija board so we can talk to the dead ones," replied Hermione with a snort.

"That would have made all of our lives much easier," replied Arcturus sourly before he turned around and pulled the kettle out of the fire, weirdly way too fast for water to cook the Muggle way.

He made his way back to the table with the kettle and with few swishes of his wand he banished the old, soggy tea leaves from the pot and the cold tea from Hermione's cup. Then, once he'd poured the water onto fresh, dry tea leaves in the pot that just appeared when the old one had been banished, he sent the kettle back to the cooker with a simple flick of his wand.

"I'm old," he said simply as he sat down. "And feeling a bit lazy."

"So you conjured tea leaves?" asked Hermione.

"Gamp's Law of Elementary Transfiguration," replied Arcturus. "To which food is one of the five exceptions. You can't conjure it out of nothing. However you can increase its size or transport it from one place to another. As things are the pot is enchanted to fill with fresh leaves from the tin in the cabinet. Not that a very skilled and powerful wizard is unable to stretch it out a bit by transforming fruits and vegetables from other flora. But upon tasting it still tastes as the original product, like say, piss," he added with a snort.

"Fascinating," deadpanned Hermione. "Moving on," she added. "Who can you present as a character witness?" she asked quickly.

"Aside of myself and dead or incapable people?" asked Arcturus pointedly. "Well, I can head out and procure Lupin but at the moment he would do more harm than good."

"That's a lousy defence," pointed out Hermione. "Fine, I will allow it but if you fail to convince me…" she drawled out. "What sort of a man was Sirius?"

"Before he became a man he was a child and then a teenager, and you can't really judge the man without knowing his past," answered Arcturus simply.

"You told me about his past," retorted Hermione.

"I told you about certain events from his past, but not about his character as I knew him," replied Arcturus. "Like most Black children, partly due to the abuse he suffered at the hands on his father, and partly due to his upbringing he wasn't the most exuberant of children. Not with the shoes he was eventually going to fill in and not due to his caretaking nature. Regulus was the exuberant one, once removed from the care of their parents at the very least. Sirius was confident, in his own work, convictions and judgements. At the age when children start to reason out stuff he never failed to produce a convincing argument that was backed by what he knew about the issue or the person. He was a quick student and a true delight to observe for an old man," he smiled softly. "And although not exuberant he was far from being a hermit. He liked a good book just as much as Mel and I had but he was capable of finding his place in social situations. He made acquaintances easily, granted not with everybody but he always attempted to find something minimally interesting about the person to whom he was talking."

"Did he have childhood friends?" asked Hermione.

"Not as close ones as James eventually became," replied Arcturus with a slight grimace. "If there was anyone with whom he really was the closest to that level of friendship then it was Regulus. Even, maybe especially after Orion started to abuse him. They were inseparable and on the occasions they were, on a certain level, always aware where the other one was. Regulus hero-worshiped him and Sirius was insanely devoted to him to the point of what I considered as unhealthy co-dependency. Aside of Reg up until his teenage years he was on very good terms with Bella's sisters, closer to Andromeda than with Narcissa as Andromeda possessed similar to his more reserved nature and Narcissa was as much of a Quidditch buff as Regulus had been. He spent a certain amount of time around Rodolphus's younger brother, Rastaban Lestrange but they never got along well, but he did his best to be civil to him as long as the old Lestranges were in relatively close vicinity. Next acquaintance of his was Desmond Jenkins, the nephew of Eugenia Jenkins, the Minister for Magic of that time. They weren't particularly close but had gotten along well with each other when they were in the same company. The closest however he was to Damocles Greengrass' youngest children, Perseus and Persephone. They were so close that at the age of ten he and Persephone made a pact that if by the age of twenty-one they were both unmarried, emotionally unattached and free of such obligations then he would petition for her hand in marriage."

"Was it a good match?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Of children of similar disposition and political views. They came to the conclusion that after seven or more generations from the last marriage union between a Black and a Greengrass their future children would be free from the dangers of inbreeding," replied Arcturus. "I couldn't exactly fault their reasoning and neither could Damocles. They thought that it was a big secret but every Greengrass knew as did I and Melania. We had nothing against it, aside of lack of feelings deeper than a cautious friendship on their part. Then there was Wendeline Crabbe, a distant relative of Pollux's wife, a rare guest at the family gatherings until a certain age. They weren't particularly close but they had gotten along well. He also played chess with Cornfoot and Boot boys but more on the basics of an acquaintance rather than any character match."

"So James was the one that matched him the most," said Hermione pensively.

"Not in character," replied Arcturus. "If any of the other three matched Sirius in character at its very core then it was Lupin. What James was capable of doing however was drawing Sirius out of his shell."

"If they were so different then why did they become friends?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Are your friends much like you?" asked Arcturus pointedly.

Hermione barely managed to contain a snort. She wished that Harry and Ron were a little bit more like her, at least in regard of their studies. Harry at the very least tried to make an effort when he wasn't distracted with a too heavy school load but Ron... At times she felt more like his mother rather than a friend. Then there was Neville, polite and a bit reserved, with non-existent confidence in his own work and resigned to being the butt of the joke while still determined to try to do his best. If Harry had Hermione's focus, Ron her dedication to responsibility and Neville her confidence in himself however…. She could imagine that but she quickly found shaking her head. If either of them were a bit more like her then they wouldn't be themselves and while she would be able to get along with them just great it just wouldn't be it.

"I think that in the very beginning James's ignorance instilled in Sirius protective tendencies to preserve that childhood innocence as long as possible. James's exuberance and readiness to cause mischief on the other hand allowed him to let go of his natural reserve. After everything Orion and Walburga put him through he needed the levity and carelessness that James offered," replied Arcturus pensively. "Perhaps if he and Miranda had rekindled their friendship then maybe he would have some sort of a buffer between mischief and bullying but it wasn't what happened," he added with a grimace. "Not that I blame her. She was entitled to her prejudice towards him and we did nothing to temper his personal pride."

"What about his other friends at Hogwarts?" asked Hermione.

"From what I know he tried to maintain old connections but James monopolised a lot of his free time for that. He was an only child and he didn't exactly like sharing the affection or interest of his friends if he hadn't found the subjects of thereof worthy. Lupin and Pettigrew were fine because they were their dorm-mates and interesting in their own right but the others…" he grimaced. "So Sirius abandoned old acquaintances and they formed new ones. Fault was on both sides."

"But," said Hermione, feeling one coming.

"Tea?" asked Arcturus as he reached for the forgotten pot.

"No, thank you, maybe later," answered Hermione. "But?" she pressed.

Arcturus poured himself a cup and took a sip before he answered, "The fallout between the boys while it surely didn't seem to him as such was probably the best thing that could have happened to him at that point. He calmed down, matured, physically as much as emotionally. He rekindled some of the old acquaintances and while those connections hadn't gone as deep as that between him and Miranda they offered him an alternative support structure that he lacked. He settled on a career and worked diligently to not jeopardise his chances to get into Auror Training. With the help of his other friends he gained entry, a bit late but still early enough to catch up into two Third Class Mastery programs, in Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"So what you're implying is that his first chosen friends were lousy ones," commented Hermione.

"Young and stupid, and yeah, maybe a bit lousy," admitted Arcturus. "They all needed to grow up and mature. Hard to tell whom it had taken the longest to come around. Due to his condition Lupin was always the most cautious one of the four of them, a somewhat tentative voice of reason unless it wasn't drowned in the protest of the other three. From the distance Miranda judged him as the best of the other three but he had his own issues, some of which he managed to overcome, some he unfortunately did not."

"And James?" asked Hermione.

"Entitled spoiled brat who thought that the world and everything in it resolved around him. Impatient, arrogant, bully that needed a harsh reality check," replied Arcturus quickly and sighed before he continued. "And that collision eventually came. In the form of learning his roots and having to accept them, not that it went very well, mind you," Arcturus added grimly. "For the others it seemed like Sirius's awareness of the familial connection between him and James and keeping it secret from him seemed to James like an ultimate betrayal."

"Wasn't it?" asked Hermione quickly.

"You're forgetting that although both were Blacks by blood only one of them was raised as such with everything the name entitled. The responsibilities as well as the drawbacks. Sirius knew most of his relatives if not very well then at the very least well enough to form his own opinions on them. James wasn't the descendant of my branch and while as a Head of the Black family I held control over him the actual blood claim belonged to Pollux as the oldest living male relative of Dorea. Sirius knew that if I claimed James for the Black family I would eventually have to comply with Pollux's claim of being the relative of blood. And Pollux was enough of a bastard to make it and I would have to concede if I'd lain the claim myself. That was one of the reasons why I had chosen to leave the boy with his grandparents. As spoiled rotten, ignorant and short-sighted in his morality as he was, he was better off as such than at risk of turning into another Bellatrix," replied Arcturus grimly. "Sirius knew that. He wasn't the most diligent student of family connections but during their first year he noticed enough similarities and had enough of a nerve to simply ask me about the familial connection or lack of thereof between him and James. After I confirmed it I asked him what he was planning to do with it."

"And what did he tell you?" asked Hermione.

"That he wasn't sure," replied Arcturus with a sigh. "James was his friend and he had the right to know. He deserved being made aware of that connection, but then there was what I just told you and that would have been disastrous to the only life James knew. He eventually decided that James needed to know what being a Black meant before being told."

"And did he?" pressed Hermione.

"Considering the 'you're dead to me, Black' campaign that James launched after the last will and testament of his parents had been opened I'm not sure that Sirius's attempts to prepare him for that were enough," replied Arcturus grimly. "It had taken him Sirius's close call with death to pull his head out of his arse that's certain. They rekindled their friendship after that but I'm not sure that he ever fully accepted both the connection and Sirius's reasoning. He was a bit slow in that regard," he added pensively.

"What about Lily?" asked Hermione. "What was their relationship with each other considering all of the teenage drama?"

"Weirdly, they formed some sort of a friendship before the other three rekindled their own. Ms Evans was a Gryffindor Prefect and one of the harshest critics of the bunch. According to Miranda the fallout between the four of them drove her mad with curiosity as much as wariness. So with typical Gryffindor perseverance she pursued Sirius for answers when she wasn't shadowing him to learn what he was up to. But after a bit turbulent restart of it they got along well. They weren't as close as he and Miranda were but they managed to form this weird connection that occurs sometimes between people, the sibling bond with no familial connection. They had a similar dry sense of humour, they were both ambitious and determined to achieve their dreams. Her Muggle background greatly interested him as it was much different than Miranda's experience. For her he was a fountain of knowledge of wizarding customs. Somehow it worked and as I found she was a much better friend to Sirius's than her husband, far more conscious of Sirius's inner turmoil. She was the one who championed for him during the second fallout."

"Why?" asked Hermione curiously.

"According to Miranda, Lily was an empath, not on a mystical I will lock myself away from the world because the world sucks manner but a more down to earth level. From the very beginning she had a very strong moral compass and well-developed sense of right and wrong. She was both patient and hot-headed, loyal to a fault, diligent, stubborn, that's another thing she had in common with Sirius, both were stubborn to the point of obstinacy. Like Sirius she was a natural caretaker and like Sirius she decided to use her talents for other people's sake. But unlike public safety like Sirius she went into healing. She was the best and the worst thing that happened to James…"

"Why do you think so?" interrupted him Hermione curiously.

Instead of answering Arcturus fiddled with his cup of tea for a longer moment.

"They married far too young," he admitted finally with a sigh. "In a somewhat vulnerable period for her, shortly after the loss of her parents, after being denied by her sister the right to have anything of theirs. James was far too eager to make her his wife to give her room to order her thoughts and just asked for her hand. She agreed, they got married. Poor Sirius failed to get a certificate to officiate the marriage but he got to be their best man, and woman apparently seeing that Lily couldn't settle on a chief bridesmaid. Euphemia and Fleamont were still alive back then and they approved of the match. They also married young and it worked well for them. But they died far too early into James and Lily's marriage to offer them the guidance that they needed."

"Why?" asked Hermione quickly.

"The young Potters were both hot-heads, stubborn hot-heads of matching tempers. Good for heated reconciliations after arguments but not very good for the state of the marriage as a whole. Their love for each other and desire to get married was the only thing they could agree on. They argued over everything, from the date of the wedding, place of the ceremony, size of all of it and that was just before they got married. And once they had…" replied Arcturus and sighed heavily. "Apparently neither Fleamont nor Euphemia nor any other of their bloody friends had told them that there are certain issues that need to be discussed prior to tying the knot."

"And how much did they differ on that?" asked Hermione with a grimace.

"Like fire and ice," snorted Arcturus. "James was a pureblood from an old traditional family. By the time he was born Fleamont wasn't actively working aside of doing part time work for their company on occasions but Euphemia from the very beginning was a stay at home wife and mother, the woman of the house, the oasis in madness. She gave birth to one son but always wanted a large family. On that level she and Fleamont were matched. With such role models James couldn't be anything but such. Lily on the other hand came from a working class family where both parents worked. She couldn't imagine a different life than that of shared burdens, responsibilities and partnership. Then there was her determination to become a healer. She finished the first year of training with honours, even the second one and by then she was about a month away from her due date and according to Miranda even this far along she was still uncertain about what to do after their child was born. Depending on her mood and level of annoyance with her body she was either planning to take a year off to raise the kid or considering seeking a free house-elf to look after the child during her classes because James flat out refused to sacrifice his Quidditch career. Imagine how that argument went."

"I'd rather not," said Hermione with a grimace.

"And since we're on that subject, the pregnancy had raised another issue which those two idiots didn't discuss prior to getting pregnant. Supposedly James had his heart set on his own Quidditch team and the minimum of children he wanted to have was five," continued Arcturus. "Lily to the contrary believed that a pair was enough, it was enough for her mother, it was enough for most women she came in contact with. Third child could have happen eventually but not prior to opening her own practice, most likely in her mid-thirties if not later on. That was another bone of contention, as brilliant as she had been James treated her plans to become a healer as inconsequential, a way to pass time between marriage and babies. He urged her to drop out of the training right away and spent a couple of weeks sleeping on the couch for his efforts."

"That doesn't sound like the happy and peaceful marriage I heard about, not that I heard a lot about it. Only that they were a devoted and loving couple," said Hermione slowly.

"They were, when they weren't arguing, and they hardly ever argued outside of the presence of their closest friends. Mostly Sirius whom they both used as a sounding board and marriage counsellor and by the extension in front of Miranda although I'm not sure if they were aware of her presence. She and Sirius were a very private couple and they wanted to move at their own pace instead of having James hanging over their shoulder urging them to get married fast. Miranda didn't have a high confidence in the length of their marriage. Ten years and two kids she gave them before their marriage would eventually implode. I wasn't that optimistic," said Arcturus and finished the sentence with a snort.

"Why not?" asked Hermione.

"Initial healer training takes three years, upon graduation from the training you enter an advanced training which range differs from your chosen profession. For most specialisations three years is an absolute minimum required. Considering that we were talking a little while after Mrs Potter second year with the option of two babies in the equation I gave them seven more years of marriage before unavoidable divorce. That was considering that she wouldn't return to the training right away and like most married female healers with plans for children take a year of after the graduation to raise the other one," answered Arcturus.

"But that's one, two, three, six years," said Hermione.

"Seventh was for setting up her own practice provided that she wouldn't pursue a second specialisation. Highly likely all things considered. From what I heard from Miranda Lily planned to get into paediatric healing and had an interest in blood healing. Her very long term aim was finding out the cure for squibs, had she succeeded she would have received an Order of Merlin, First Class and enough recognition to dim Dumbledore's achievements," replied Arcturus with a sigh.

"But that wasn't what happened," said Hermione grimly.

"No, it was not," agreed Arcturus sourly. "Before I go further with my speculations allow me to return to that twinkling old coot and his machinations. He had an uncanny ability of securing the loyalty of people to whom he seemed like a paragon of virtues."

"For financial gain?" asked Hermione sceptically.

Arcturus grimaced and waved his hand that was reaching toward his cup in a so-so gesture before he reached for the cup and had taken a sip of his tea.

"Preserving his legend more like it," he said after he put the cup down. "Weirdly in everything that was going around and with all the mysterious disappearances and deaths happening at increasing and decreasing rates even at the height of the war Hogwarts remained one of the safest places in Wizarding Britain. The thing is that rather than contributing that to the wards upon wards around the place people attributed it to the presence of Dumbledore within castle walls," he paused for a moment. "He had defeated one Dark Lord in the past and that was probably the reason why the other one was staying away from it."

"Was he?" asked Hermione pensively.

"No," replied Arcturus bluntly. "Although to be fair he wasn't prancing around the place in person. The Dark Lord might not be at Hogwarts personally but his followers were and each graduating year made way to another graduating year and an increasing number of freshly inducted or about to be inducted Death Eaters. To that, the highly esteemed Headmaster, had turned a blind eye. Regulus, the somewhat lucky idiot, had gotten branded with the Dark Lord's mark a couple of weeks before his seventeenth birthday."

"Why was he somewhat lucky?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"The Dark Mark from what I managed to gather acts like a binding magical contract, something that underage wizards and witches aren't allowed to sign until they reach their fully legal maturity," explained Arcturus.

"But they can marry and chose their guardians," pointed out Hermione.

"They're exceptions to the rule and by now only guardianship remains there," retorted Arcturus. "Luckily for himself Regulus received the mark prior to his seventeenth birthday without receiving an explicit permission to do so from me. Had he ever been caught and put on trial that was the defence I would have used and I would have won. No legal right, no explicit permission, limited mental capacity, probably under the effects of an Imperius Curse, most likely cast by Bella or her idiot husband or his brother if not Narcissa's fiancé, bloody Lucius Malfoy. Any of them I would have gladly thrown to the Wizengamot's vultures before I would wrangle out of them a house arrest if not cleaning him from all charges completely. I had the grounds for that."

"Back to Sirius," interrupted him Hermione.

"Dumbledore you mean because I can't talk about Sirius without explaining Dumbledore's position in all of this mess. I believe that the reason why the Dark Lord's practice of securing new followers at school went ignored was because Dumbledore was doing exactly the same for his own purposes," replied Arcturus grimly. "Can't charge the man with something if you're doing the same thing and are arrogant enough to do so openly. He tried his best to appear arbitrary but he was always a manipulative and charismatic bastard. He just knew which people he should approach and when offering them their sympathy and a chance to get even. Lily unfortunately had fallen for his charm and with Lily James followed suit, dragging Lupin and Pettigrew with him. Sirius held out for a couple more months due to the sheer intensity of the training but eventually they had all been induced into Dumbledore's supposedly secret organisation called the Order of the Phoenix."

"What about Miranda? And while we're on the subject, why do you refer to her as Miranda if Mirzam was the name she was known under?" asked Hermione.

"Because she was born Miranda Black and Miranda Black she had always been to me. Had she and Sirius gotten married Miranda Black would have been her name. She knew that, she accepted that," replied Arcturus simply. "As for your first question the answer was no, she contemplated it but upon learning from Sirius what the Order looked like and what kind of members it accepted she decided against it. Then there was Sirius's reluctance to induct her. Lily was James's wife and she could do as she fucking pleased but induction to the Order would have put Miranda in even greater danger than she was already as a supposedly Muggleborn Auror and considering that it was the Order that had gotten her killed in the end he had a right to worry about her."

"You said that Bellatrix killed her and now you're saying that it was the Order of the Phoenix," pointed out Hermione sourly.

"Emotional phrasing," replied Arcturus with a soft snort. "The Order didn't kill her directly but it and its business was indirectly responsible for her presence in Diagon Alley on the day she died. You see, after we found Regulus a couple days earlier we planned to let Sirius in on that and everything we were up to. It was the highest time for that as Miranda was carrying his son. He had to step up and rise to the occasion and future responsibilities. Miranda and I had settled on the day of 30th July 1980 as she and Sirius both were free on that day. But," he paused, "due to the additional duties that Sirius carried out for the Order he was obliged to reschedule his shifts during that week. First reschedule had him working that afternoon instead of her but another conflict in the schedule had him trade public duty shifts with Miranda. Her night duty at St Mungo's for his afternoon shift in Diagon Alley."

Hermione gasped softly.

"Yeah," said Arcturus and he sighed heavily. "The last thing I heard from her was a note that claimed that tomorrow, that would be 31st July 1980, she would drag his sorry arse to the manor even if she would have to call in sick as he already knew about the child. But that…" he paused and shaken his head. "Poor boy, to lose the love of your life is one thing, to be aware of the part you played in that…" he had shaken his head.

"And then what?" whispered Hermione.

"Trouble comes in double," said Arcturus grimly. "Mel collapsed around the same time. Massive stroke. I rushed her to St Mungo's as fast as I could but it had taken her healers many, many, long, terrifying hours to stabilise her. I didn't learn about Miranda's death until many hours later Mel's head healer chased me out of the waiting room. He hoped that I would find something to eat and maybe return home to sleep, but how could I when the love of my life was laying in a room and I was uncertain whether or not I would ever see her alive again," he added morosely and a tear rolled from his eye down his cheek, he made no effort to wipe it. "So instead of taking the advice of the healer but minding the presence of orderlies and his ability to keep me out of the hospital altogether I got out of their immediate eyesight. I wandered around the place under a disillusionment charm, floating from one ward into another, just to walk, just to not think about the worst that could happen. At some point around midnight I found myself in the maternity ward, in a fit of nostalgia even though our children were born at the manor. It was then when I saw Sirius."

"In the maternity ward?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"From what I managed to learn the young Euphemius Fleamont Potter, as he was supposed to be named at the time, decided that now was the best time to come out into this wretched world," replied Arcturus with a slightly conflicted look on his face, half amused smile, half a grimace. "The kid had a Potter's timing, I give him that, the worst in the world, not that it really was his fault. It was simply his time to pop out."

"Euphemius Fleamont?" asked Hermione, weirdly drawn to the name that she knew wasn't Harry's.

"James's bright idea to honour the people he considered as his parents. A truly ingenious magnet for future bullies. That name, almost guaranteed short-sightedness and with the Potters small stature as James was always a bit of a short-ass, over which Sirius very easily towered at the age of eleven. Blessedly aside of a stupid, well-meaning father he also had a mother that due to highly emotional due to her hormones state had temporarily taken a leave of her sense but swiftly recovered from her brief period of insanity by conceding to that notion temporarily and a godfather that had given him a decent name that honoured one of the most heart-breaking of the departed," replied Arcturus.

"You never mentioned any other Harry than Harry Potter," said Hermione slowly.

"I did not," agreed Arcturus with a heavy sigh. "When Mel and I found out, way before she had, that Miranda was expecting Sirius's child we immediately made a list of suggestions which we wanted to surprise her with. After we did so we were kindly but firmly informed that the only names we could suggest were female ones provided that we would be able to talk Sirius out of Leia Organa because their first and later on second sons were already named Harrison Ford and Regulus Arcturus and that they didn't plan to have more than that within the next decade."

"Harrison Ford?" whispered Hermione. "And Leia Organa?"

"Yup," nodded Arcturus. "The Black family always subscribed to celestial names so my grandson, the smartarse with a wicked sense of humour, decided that a name befitting his first born son would be the name of the actor that played his favourite character in bloody Star Wars. Supposedly the original idea was Han Solo but the would be mother knocked that out of his head quite quickly. Well, better a Harrison than fortieth Sirius, thirtieth Regulus or twentieth Arcturus or fifteenth Cygnus or one of the ten Phineases or any permutation of thereof," he added with a dry smile that immediately sobered up. "Lily could feel that something happened and when she heard the name she immediately changed her mind about Euphemius Fleamont. James was added to console the put out father as Lily didn't want to name her child to be completely after the actor."

"How do you know that?" asked Hermione. "You slipped into the room?"

"Blessedly after the grisly part," confirmed Arcturus grimly. "Ruptured placenta, she was rushed out of the room into a sterile one to be treated while Sirius remained behind in it with the new-born as James went with her," he paused and sighed heavily. "I saw him, Hermione," he whispered softly. "Hours after losing the love of his life, hours that instead of being comforted by his friends he spent comforting them. He just collapsed, physically as much as emotionally and he was only holding himself together by a thread because of the tiny infant in his arms. He spoke of her, of their son, half of what he was saying was gibberish if not feverish hopes of a grieving man for a future he no longer had. The others were gone for about an hour during which he eventually calmed down and I was privy to another birth, not a physical one but just as much miraculous in its transformation. Birth of love in the purest of forms, unconditional, grief consuming love that raised a man from his knees into a semblance of serenity. Lily saw that too, as did James. Neither of them had a doubt that their son's godfather should be anyone else but Sirius but that was the moment of certainty. He might not have fathered the boy and by blood he might have been a distant cousin but in that very moment Sirius became the boy's second father. You can doubt everything else about him and his actions but you cannot and shouldn't doubt in the depth of Sirius's love for Harry."

"Love can be obsessive and possessive and all consuming," replied Hermione slowly, making a weak attempt to argue the point.

"It can," conceded Arcturus. "But not this kind of love, Hermione. I know it, I experienced it. My hands were the second ones in which that poor boy had ended even with the healers warning that he might not live long. It was I and Melania and not Orion and Walburga that kept vigil by his crib. It was I who walked around the room with an infant that had to be kept upright at all times while the potions were working their magic to develop his lungs. Into Mel's arms he went when my own grew too stiff and heavy from hours of holding him up. His own parents didn't want anything to do with him as they had already decided that he was as good as dead. To me and not to my son he spoke the name that was meant for him," he choked up on words at the end as the tears started slipping down freely from his eyes. "That love does not cause destruction, it only grows, it forgives misdeeds, it goes on when nothing else does and when all hope is lost. That love knows, Hermione. I know," he choked up again. "Had it been anyone else, any other family, any other child I would eventually accept that. But I saw it, Sirius was incapable of doing any kind of harm to Harry."

"Harry, not his parents or other people," pointed out Hermione cautiously.

"Dear Merlin," mumbled Arcturus with a sniff. "Could you stop channelling your grandfather for a moment?" he groaned. "If not for anything else than humouring an old man?" he said with another sniff. "That bastard could talk anyone in circles. In ten human languages and four magical ones," he added with a snort that was followed by another sniff.

"You asked me to prosecute and judge," replied Hermione softly. "And that's what I'm doing. Harry is my friend, you know. I only want the best for him."

"As you should," said Arcturus softly. "Which is why you're still here rather than running for the hills. He wasn't supposed to be tied up with your own problems but as you're a relative of Miranda who was tied up with Sirius he's as much tied into all of this as you are."

"Yet, I'm still here and he isn't," replied Hermione grimly. "Not that it's his fault. He needs to know and I will tell him everything eventually but I don't want to drop anything on him right now."

"I know," sighed Arcturus.

"Why you didn't seek him out?" asked Hermione pensively. "If he is as tied in all of this as I am then why he isn't here?"

"I will get to that, eventually," replied Arcturus with a heavy sigh. "But first things first."

"Sirius," said Hermione with a nod.

"Like I said Sirius and the rest of his friends were tied up with Dumbledore's suicidal squad disguised as a militia. The order was filled with Dumbledore's staunch supporters, old friends from school and acquaintances of whose loyalty he was sure. He used them in the past during Grindelwald's reign. Miranda managed to weasel out of Sirius the description of it. Old farts and many recent graduates from Hogwarts, entire families of them. People of little defensive training, very few Aurors, some already dead by the time their group was inducted. By the time Sirius was arrested he was one of three Aurors in it," replied Arcturus grimly.

"That doesn't sound good," whispered Hermione.

"It was far from such," confirmed Arcturus. "The best that they could do and did was tail people they suspected of being Death Eaters. Another thing was warning people that the Dark Lord wanted dead. They built a network of secure safe houses and people that kept them stocked up. That part was usually relegated to family members who sometimes knew what their relatives were up to and sometimes they didn't. That network eventually proved to be the only thing that kept the Potters lasting as long as they did. For some reason after the birth of Harrison the Dark Lord decided to come after them with vicious perseverance. Why? I have no idea. The only thing I do know is what I managed to weasel out of a couple of people by having my own tails. One of them were the Longbottoms, Frank and Alice. Poor bastards," he sighed heavily.

"Everybody says that but no one says what happened to them," muttered Hermione.

"I will get to that in a moment," replied Arcturus. "Frank was a distant relative of the Black family. Great-grandson of my uncle Arcturus after whom I was named. His grandmother along with her dowry brought into the family a couple of house-elves. One of them was her own maid and the other two were a pair that when asked by my father about anyone willing to transfer to the House of Longbottom answered that if that was Master's will then they would do so. As good match as Harfang Longbottom had been for my cousin he was a mite forgetful fellow and he had failed to oath Callidora's house-elves to the house of Longbottom. It was something that my father overlooked and when I stepped into his shoes after his death the elves had come to me and asked what they were supposed to do. I told them that if they wished to return to the service of the Black family they could do so, as they were still bound to it but if they liked their current masters they could remain there and treat them as such."

"But you still held more power over them than the Longbottoms," said Hermione sourly.

"Not in ill will," said Arcturus quickly. "One of the chief lessons that I received from my father is that a good Head of the House stays on the top of all things that matter to the family. The house-elves always had been the best source of gossip and it allowed me to surprise my cousin with congratulations on becoming a grandmother mere minutes after Frank was born. It also came in handy when I wanted to figure what the hell went wrong during the time after Miranda's death."

"What did you learn?" asked Hermione pensively.

"Not as much as I wanted," replied Arcturus with a grimace. "Alice, Frank's wife had gotten pregnant around the same time as Lily had. Their boys were born roughly an hour apart, and as they were both pregnant and of similar age they became friends, not bosom friends but ones that were aware of each other's troubles. The Dark Lord also pursued the Longbottoms but with less vicious glee and Frank wisely moved the entire family into their ancient manor. The Dark Lord could stand in front of the door and knock and kick it to his heart's content but the wards wouldn't allow him to pass any further than that. Back to Sirius and the Potters now," he added and took a sip of his tea. "What Alice did know about the situation was that from very early after Harry was born the Dark Lord pursued them but always managed to miss finding them in the safe houses. If not by days then by hours. Someone was moving them around, jumping all over the country with no clear pattern."

"Someone?" pressed Hermione.

"Someone trained in elusive tactics, someone with a vexed interest in the Potters continued survival and safety," said Arcturus quickly.

"Like say, an Auror?" asked Hermione pensively. "Like Sirius perhaps?" she asked incredulously.

"Considering the pattern which at some point I saw because Alice dropped a couple of names of town and villages Sirius was the only person who could do that," replied Arcturus.

"Why do you think so?" asked Hermione. "Could have been Dumbledore," she countered.

"Sirius was a Black and astronomy is the very first thing that our children learn. The level of their knowledge on the subject upon entrance to Hogwarts usually surpasses the first two years of the course. Sometimes three," replied Arcturus grimly. "When I found the places that Alice mentioned on the map and compared the dates I saw that when connected they formed the constellation of Canis Major. And pray tell which is the brightest star of it?"

"Sirius," whispered Hermione in awe. "And you saw it? How did you know?"

"Because I knew Sirius. I'm not sure that he was doing it consciously but in hours of need we find comfort in familiar patterns. If he didn't have a clear pattern in his head in the beginning he surely had it towards the end. Call it a hunch, call it precognition, whatever. He needed a pattern, if only to make the Potters moves unpredictable to the Dark Lord. Now tell me, if he was so determined to preserve their lives why would lead the Dark Lord to them?"

"Another fallout?" suggested Hermione.

"Highly unlikely, the Potters were wanted dead by the Dark Lord. James had his issues but he wasn't stupid. Try again," replied Arcturus.

"Revenge for Miranda?" offered Hermione.

"Wrong," quipped Arcturus. "I will admit that the supposedly brilliant idea to become the spy for the Order in the Dark Lord's circle very early on entered his head but luckily for him Miranda knocked that out. Regulus's supposed death had helped. It was unclear who killed him but all the money were on Bella and that she had something to do with it. If she hadn't done it herself then she got one of her cronies to do it, likely for an order that he didn't follow. And Sirius as a Death Eater would have lasted even less than Regulus had if he wasn't killed right away."

"Maybe he was done with all of it," supplied Hermione.

"If he was done with it he would most likely pursue the Dark Lord only to attempt to destroy him in a suicide attack. No, Hermione, Sirius's feelings towards the Potters and their boy I'm sure of."

"Then what do you think happened?" asked Hermione, giving up on suggestions.

"According to what I learned from Alice and Frank towards the end of the pursuit, a couple of months prior to their deaths the Potters hid themselves under the Fidelius Charm. It's an ancient spell, that was born out of old magic that pureblood families used to hide their properties from strangers and enemies. It's quite similar to the spell I'm under thanks to your mother. But while the spell that your mother used allows me some wriggle room to direct you towards the secret she's hiding, the Fidelius Charm completely hides the secret in the secret keeper's soul. The secret cannot be discovered by any one, any spell, anything as long as the secret keeper doesn't want to share it."

"And Sirius was the Potters secret keeper," said Hermione pensively.

"It was widely believed that was the case," replied Arcturus with a grimace. "Alice and Frank had been told that Sirius was the Potters secret keeper, as did Dumbledore and their other friends."

"But?" asked Hermione feeling one coming.

"But if that was the case the Potters would have been still alive and the Dark Lord would be still running rampant," replied Arcturus sourly.

"He could have sacrificed his friends for Harry," suggested Hermione.

"And how do you think would that go?" asked Arcturus with a snort. "Say, that's what happened how do you imagine he was going to explain to Harry how his parents had died, huh?" he asked pointedly. "The Potters were both intelligent, their child as such wouldn't be any less. Sooner rather than later he would have figured out that there was something fishy about their deaths. Sirius wasn't that good at hiding secrets from the people that knew him, not secrets of this kind of magnitude. Something would have given the whole thing up. A flinch or a micro-expression, anything."

"Then what?" pressed Hermione.

"My guess is that he overthought it," said Arcturus with a grimace. "He was still an active Auror and an order member responsible for the safety of his closest friends. That meant that he had to have not only a plan A but also B, C, D and maybe E. He knew how the spell was supposed to work, he knew that all of the backlash would go after him and he knew that he wouldn't give it up."

"So?" asked Hermione.

"My guess is that he didn't want to even give the Dark Lord a chance to try out how powerful he was. His powers were rumoured to be un-matching any other man in the world," replied Arcturus slowly.

"Possibly powerful enough to tear a guarded secret from Sirius's soul?" offered Hermione softly.

"Maybe," said Arcturus with a nod.

"And if he didn't want to give the Dark Lord a chance to try it out then…" she continued and paused for a moment, waiting for Arcturus's interruption that didn't come. So she continued, "Then he would have to have someone else, another secret keeper as a back-up."

Arcturus nodded.

"Pettigrew?" whispered Hermione even as the realisation was dawning on her.

"More likely than Lupin all things considered," replied Arcturus. "By his character far more fitting the shoes of a traitor. A coward that sought the loyalty of the biggest bully on the playground and there was no bigger bully than the Dark Lord."

"Agreed," conceded Hermione. "But Sirius killed him, him and twelve innocent people."

"Like I said, debatable," replied Arcturus grimly. "Sirius was an Auror, a rogue one towards the end, but in all altercations with the Death Eaters in the past he never risked the lives of civilians. Muggle street, in broad daylight, people all around, families with children."

"You have no proof of that," pointed out Hermione.

"The Ministry is sitting on it," retorted Arcturus. "Sirius was arrested, they showed me his written confession, signed with his name. Except the handwriting didn't match Sirius's, it tried to emulate it but Sirius had certain quirks that he had been aware of that showed in his personal correspondence but never on official documents. A confession made at the height of emotional collapse would have those quirks and then there was his name on it. He was a Black and my heir, he was conditioned to sign important legal documents with a blood quill as magically binding as much as legally. If he really made that confession he would have signed it in his blood."

"Maybe he didn't have one on hand," said Hermione.

"He always carried one on him," replied Arcturus grimly. "It was a gift from Miranda, small little thing that could fit in his palm. It was on the list of stuff that was taken from him and put in evidence. He would have used it."

"What about the trial?" asked Hermione. "Surely there should have been one."

"There wasn't one," spat Arcturus. "Had there been one he would have walked away as a free man."

"Everybody is entitled to have a trial," protested Hermione.

"Entitled, yes; given, I'm afraid not," replied Arcturus grimly. "He was transferred to Azkaban right away on the orders of Bartemius Crouch even though the only thing Crouch was entitled to do was arresting him and keeping him in Ministry holding cells. But he had done so because Sirius supposedly was a very dangerous criminal responsible for a mass-murder. Except even the most vicious, most violent offenders deserve a right to a fair trial, something which he had been denied. On what grounds? I have no idea, not any of the legal ones. Either way Crouch believed that he had gotten his man and intended to make an example out of him. Supposed Dark Lord's right hand, a rogue Auror, a traitor and a mass—murderer. They didn't even bother to examine the evidence and kept waving that falsified confession in my face, him and that old hag, may they both rot in hell. Then I went to Albus and tried to reason with him, he repeated in verbatim what they were saying and claimed that Sirius was the Potters secret keeper. So I threatened him with the Black family primacy and by doing so I ended up in zugzwang."

"Zugzwang?" whispered Hermione.

"Zugzwang is a chess term, it describes the point in the game where the player realises that he will inevitably be checkmated," replied Arcturus grimly.

"So the only option is giving up the game or playing it until the very end," finished Hermione. "Unless there's another option?"

"Not in official matches there isn't as they're timed," replied Arcturus with a grimace. "The move is on my side and Dumbledore most probably convinced himself that I have given up the whole game before I died. What he doesn't see is that we're at an impasse. I made no moves because by doing so I would have to sacrifice one of my figures. If I were to protect Sirius I would have lost Harry and Sirius would have never forgiven me that. If I were to go after Harry personally I would have lost Sirius, a sacrifice I'm unwilling to make."

"How sure are you of the possible loss?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Very," snorted Arcturus. "Dumbledore himself was above issuing such threats but he had a faithful lapdog that growled at people for him. The backstabbing, one-eyed traitor that informed me very kindly that Azkaban was a very dangerous place. I didn't disagree, Azkaban is one of the most dangerous places in Britain and not because of the people locked inside it but due to vile creatures that populate it, the dementors of Azkaban. Foul creatures born from the darkest of dark magic that feast on happiness and hope, leaving behind only pain and misery. But for a wizard of disciplined mind practiced in the art of Occlumency as Sirius had been they possess a little danger, even though in his placing he's constantly guarded by two of them around the clock."

"What could possibly be worse?" asked Hermione softly.

"Human wardens," replied Arcturus grimly. "Dementors don't feed the prisoners, wardens do. They also herd them to the showers, depending fon the status of the prisoner at longer or shorter intervals that ranges from a week to a month or a quarter. Azkaban is an island in the middle of the sea, the building is made out of stone. It's a very damp place and quite slippery," added Arcturus slowly. "It would be most unfortunate if a prisoner under the name of Sirius Black had slipped on the stairs on his way to a shower and had broken his neck."

"He actually told you that?" whispered Hermione. "And you let him get away with it?"

"Trust me I want nothing more than to hex that bastard from now into the next century but I knew that any damage that I would inflict to him would be eventually inflicted on Sirius. Not something I wanted, not that keeping my wand down didn't cost me a lot of effort," replied Arcturus grimly.

"What would happen to Harry if you went after Sirius?" asked Hermione pensively.

"Something possibly worse than what was already happening," replied Arcturus. "It took me a longer while to piece all of it together, and most likely I wouldn't have done that without Regulus's help. Not that he's aware of that, the impatient smartarse. Imagine that you're Albus Dumbledore and one day you found yourself with a defeated Dark Lord and a child of less than two that supposedly defeated him. What do you do?"

"Well, I would have wanted to know how the kid achieved that," said Hermione slowly. "Did he do that?" she asked.

"Most likely considering that his other lackey, that half-giant groundskeeper, Hagrid appeared in Godric's Hollow mere hours if not minutes after it happened. He was seen leaving the place on Sirius's motorbike. That was on the late night of 31st October, maybe early hours of 1st November and the boy hadn't been delivered to his Muggle relatives until the morning of 2nd November, most likely the late hours of 1st November. Maybe he had problems with figuring out the motorbike. The thing was enchanted to fly and from what I know about Hagrid flying was never one of his strengths. From up there he could have easily gotten himself confused and therefore lost. But getting lost would have accounted for only couple of hours even if he ended up in Ireland by accident. Godric's Hollow is in the West Country and those despicable Muggles live in Surrey. In the time it had taken Hagrid to deliver the boy he could have easily walked that distance while taking breaks for rest and sustenance," replied Arcturus sourly.

"So it's highly likely that he brought Harry to Dumbledore," said Hermione with a nod. "But why wouldn't he tell Harry that," she muttered, more to herself than to Arcturus.

"Most likely because someone made sure that he didn't remember that he had done so," supplied Arcturus.

"Like Dumbledore," said Hermione. "Because he didn't want anyone to know that he examined Harry. Why the Dursleys though if you had primacy claim?" she asked.

"Muggle neighbourhood, very Muggle, houses much alike one another. Easy place to confuse a wizard. Then there was the matter of blood magic," replied Arcturus grimly.

"What sort of blood magic?" asked Hermione quickly.

"I'm not sure. I managed to examine the boy at the age of three under the guise of a routine medical check-up but I couldn't exactly brandish out my wand in front of his aunt and cousin. All that I managed to establish is the presence of magical aura that fit that of a particularly strong blood magic. If I could examine him properly most likely I would be able to tell you more," replied Arcturus.

"And what did you think about his relatives?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Considering that I was faced with one almost morbidly obese toddler with the attention span of a flobberworm and one massively underweight child that was on the brink of malnourishment on the top of physical injuries that indicated physical abuse?" asked Arcturus sarcastically.

"Then why didn't you remove him from their care?" asked Hermione sourly. "Because of Sirius?"

Arcturus nodded slowly and he had taken a sip of his tea before he answered, "I attempted to scare them off first by contacting Muggle authorities. It wasn't very effective and by the time I returned to that town a couple of months later I found the boy in Regulus's class and under his heavy scrutiny. As lost in figuring out his principles as Reg had been in his teenage years by that time he had gotten his head in order. He has a new identity of a model Muggle citizen. He's well-liked by his colleagues and his students. The Headmasters continue to rave about his ability to connect with children and uncanny eye for fishing out a student in need. He volunteers for child protective services and on the top of all of that he lives literally a stone throw away from the boy."

"Why then hasn't Harry been removed from their care?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Not due to Regulus's lack of trying," replied Arcturus grimly. "The problem with the system is that it is a system, its people and people are corrupt or easy to manipulate, with or without the help of magic. If one day I will hear that Dumbledore had been murdered by a cloaked, shadowy figure then my money would be on Reg. I have to give him that his level of obstinacy long since outmatched Sirius's."

"So he's your eyes and ears on Harry," said Hermione. "Why didn't you try to reach out to Harry through him?"

"Because he doesn't know that I know that he's alive. He's a Muggle, Hermione, he has no magic whatsoever although…" he paused. "Considering for how many years he managed to evade Dumbledore that might no longer be true but I'm not going to walk up to him and ask."

"Why the bloody hell not?" snorted Hermione.

"Because I prefer myself as I am," replied Arcturus.

"Scheming from the shadows?" supplied Hermione.

"Breathing," quipped Arcturus. "And I'd hate to offer myself as an outlet for his frustration with Dumbledore whether or not he's a Muggle or magical. If he's a Muggle then he's a physically fit young man of considerable physical strength with very good reflexes and I'm a fragile old man equipped only with a magic stick."

"And if he's magical then he's all of the above and capable of hexing you from now until eternity," finished Hermione.

"And as a Black he has a wide repertoire of stuff to hex me with. Not something I'm willing to risk as my life isn't my own," replied Arcturus and closed his mouth with a loud clack.

"Why not?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Because there are a couple of things that I want and need to do before I will consider letting him do that," replied Arcturus.

"Okay," said Hermione slowly, conceding the point. "What do you require of me?" she asked. "Because you wouldn't tell me any of this if you didn't want something from me."

"I want nothing from you," replied Arcturus quickly, too quickly.

Hermione snorted.

"Alright, I want nothing from you that would cause you any additional distress," he corrected himself. "Your Aunt asked me to look after you and should you chose to not participate in my schemes I will continue to do so regardless like I promised. I'm here to guide you and look after your best interest."

"What do you want to do?" asked Hermione.

"I want to turn the table on Dumbledore by setting a new game," replied Arcturus.

"With Harry and Sirius's as your kings," said Hermione slowly.

"And you as the pawn turned queen," added Arcturus. "You have the access to Harry that I lack, you're his friend and he trusts you. If you start to very cautiously voice your doubts about Dumbledore… If you were to ask him a couple of uncomfortable questions for which he doesn't have an answer but would want to have one…"

"You mean if I make him realise that he's Dumbledore's pawn," finished Hermione as eerily familiar sense of recognition washed over her. "As are the rest of us," she added slowly.

"Obviously you need time to digest everything that I've told you," said Arcturus calmly. "I'm not expecting an immediate answer now or any time soon. All that I'm asking is that you take your time to consider your options. And since we're on the subject of options, should you still wish to find your biological parents I will provide you with guidance should you wish so."

"Now?" asked Hermione in shock.

"Well, when I was leaving home I forgot to take it with me as I wasn't certain if you had your answer already. I knew that Larry planned to help you with learning more about Miranda and that you would eventually make your way here," replied Arcturus. "Today is Thursday, why don't you take the next couple of days to think it over and I shall met you here on Monday, at say around nine."

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** Hermione gets her retribution on Arcturus. The return of Larry and Josephine.


	16. 12th July 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets her revenge on Arcturus by making him aware of what lack of his involvement had led into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 7700.
> 
> **AN:** The beginning of an end and one that had to happen after having Hermione listening for three chapters straight the long and sad tale that Arcturus had given. Now it's his time to listen.
> 
> **The story updates on Tuesday and Thursday.**
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen**

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter sixteen: 12** **th** **July 1993**

_12_ _th_ _July 1993, 39 Grimmauld Place, London_

Monday morning had found Hermione once more staring at the photographs that she'd stared at for the last couple of days. The one she received from Larry, with Sirius and Miranda; as she'd given into Arcturus's habit of thinking of her as Miranda rather than Mirzam. For some reason Miranda seemed to suit her more, even the meaning of that name seemed to suit her to a t. Miranda derived from Latin mirandus that meant admirable, wonderful and while Hermione had her doubts about her wonderfulness as whole she found herself admiring the woman her aunt had been.

Another photograph she found herself staring at was one of the very few solitary photographs of her and Harry together, snapped by Neville in the boy's dormitory during one of their renditions of the Parrot sketch, with Hermione barely keeping a straight face while doing John Cleese while Harry was losing his composure and his own straight face.

How different their lives would have looked if Miranda decided to screw with her sister's decision to give her up or made a strong convincing argument that Hermione would have been better off with her than a pair of strangers. It wouldn't have been easy and a baby, someone's else baby would have certainly put a damper on her developing relationship with Sirius. But in everything in the last couple of days she heard about the man he did sound like a paragon of responsibility, a somewhat rogue paragon of responsibility but still more like a man that would rise to the occasion rather than nope out of it. Which in turn make her wonder how much Sirius himself knew about what Miranda was up to.

In an ideal world, where the Dark Lord didn't exist… Because Arcturus's Dark Lording Voldemort's name during their conversation was another thing that had gotten to her. She always felt apprehensive about using the name he had chosen for himself and his Muggle name didn't suit him at all just as the monikers given to him were downright ridiculous. Dark Lord fitted him to a t, it summed up his intentions and his drive to power. So, in an ideal world, where the Dark Lord didn't exist, or choked himself to death on a peanut or something, she most likely would have ended being raised by Miranda, and consequently Sirius. Most likely she would have some sort of relationship with her older sister, whose name she didn't even know and if not with her, because her mother decided to run away from everything with her older daughter, then she would have younger siblings in the form of Miranda and Sirius's babies. In this world she and Harry would be childhood friends, and/or depending on when the Dark Lord would decide to choke himself on that peanut they would have been raised together. Who knew, maybe they would both have siblings to look after and… well, in an ideal world Miranda would be alive and Sirius wouldn't feel the need to pass on his son's name so Harry most likely wouldn't be Harry but an Euphemius Fleamont…

She had to give that to Sirius, Euphemius Fleamont didn't suit Harry at all. But who knows, maybe Harry's mum would have regained her senses on her own without Sirius's suggestion and would have decided on a different name, more Muggle one or at the very least one that was less of a magnet for bullies. For some reason, because the names of Lily's parents weren't the ones she asked about the only alternative name to Euphemius Fleamont, other than Harry, she was able to come up with was Regulus.

The thought of that in turn kept bringing her to the thoughts of both Regulus' she'd heard about. A good loyal friend of Larry and a young Death Eater that to Arcturus was the source of shame but one that somehow managed to turn his life on an axis.

He was obviously the author of the letter which Hermione had found in the stash of letters meant for Miranda and as Hermione read through it again, now aware of the author's identity the letter sounded hopeful. Whatever had happened to Regulus that made him loose his magic and his identity had humbled him. His feelings towards Miranda and his brother were clear, he loved them dearly and wanted the best for them.

Somehow Hermione found herself being able to very easily relate to him without ever meeting him. A wizard amongst the Muggles, a fish out of water and a man stripped of his own powers. Yet capable of taking everything that happened to him and not only adapting into a new world but capable of repenting for the sins of youth by trying to do right by the world he found himself in. But most of all, loyal to Harry, to the familial connection between them to continue annoying Arcturus into accepting familial obligations while being unaware of Arcturus's doubts.

It was curious why she never heard anything about him from Harry. But then again the only thing she was able to get out of Harry was the confirmation that he did go to a Muggle primary school before Hogwarts. She didn't press further but maybe, just maybe she could do that in the future.

Because if there was only one thing she was certain of, it was that Harry needed to be told everything. Right now wasn't the ideal place or time, because it was a lot to take in even for Hermione, and the entire debacle affected Hermione only marginally. It also needed to be done away from the Dursleys and away from Dumbledore. Where, when and how, she at the moment had no idea. Maybe Arcturus would be able to suggest the best approach to that.

And then there was Dumbledore. She was still able to feel the shock and incredulity at Ron's suggestion that maybe Dumbledore wanted Harry to be involved with the Philosopher's Stone and do something against the possible thief. Back then Harry convinced himself that Dumbledore was teaching them a lesson but neither he nor Hermione nor Ron were able to see how inappropriate it was of Dumbledore to do so. Which meant that either Dumbledore was trying actively to kill Harry or kept continuing to test him. For what? Hermione had no idea. Most likely to turn Harry into his champion against the Dark Lord.

And that wasn't just inappropriate, it was downright despicable. Manipulating a teenage boy into doing something grown wizards would have problems with. Because protecting the Philosopher's Stone shouldn't have been Harry's job. Dumbledore brought that bloody magical pebble into Hogwarts and he should have installed better protective measures. Never mind the Dark Lord, three teenagers passed through them without much of a problem. With a little bit of luck Harry himself would have gone as far as the potions room on his own. And what would have happened if Harry went after Snape, whom he was hoping to find but didn't, on his own? Most likely he would never reach the chamber with the stone. He was decent enough player to get through the chess room with a little bit of luck but the potions riddle would either leave him stumped in that room for hours or most likely dead or incapacitated.

Then there was the entire business with their second year. What was Dumbledore thinking with hiring Lockhart and not giving him the boot as soon as it became evident that Lockhart was a fraud? By keeping him not only had he screwed them out of a year of a proper defence course, and never mind them. How did the OWLs and NEWTs students pass their exams when all they had were Lockhart's quizzes on his books?

And the Chamber of Secrets and the bloody basilisk slithering around the place? Sure, maybe having the chamber opened again had taken everyone, Dumbledore included by surprise, but for Merlin's sake he was teaching at Hogwarts when Myrtle died. How was it bloody possible that in all the years they had both been in the same castle it didn't occur to that old goat to just ask Myrtle how she died, just like Harry did. Surely as the Headmaster he had some authority over Hogwarts' ghost and could threaten her with exorcising her or something if she wasn't willing to talk.

As for the basilisk? A mythical monster guarding the chamber that was built by Salazar Slytherin, one of the most renowned parselmouths in the world? What could possibly the chamber be hiding if not a bloody snake? Even if she wanted to provide Dumbledore with an excuse, that simply disappeared the very moment Harry used parseltongue in front of the entire school. That coupled with Harry's uncanny ability to find basilisk victims wasn't a coincidence to Hermione, and she was a bloody teenager. What was Dumbledore's excuse?

The longer she thought about it the more certain she became that Arcturus should be made aware of what was going on at Hogwarts with Dumbledore still at the helm.

Aside from spending a lot of time on dissecting what she'd learned she devoted a lot of her attention to her summer essays. The Charms one was practically done already and only required polishing. Astronomy was absurdly easy to finish and mindful of how the one from last year turned out she didn't put a lot of effort into it. What was the point of putting additional work and time into something that Professor Sinistra deemed as unnecessary. The professor in a private conversation with Hermione revealed that if it was up to her she wouldn't even be assigning summer essays to first and second years as private work would mess up with the necessities she was teaching them. Then came Herbology, boringly easy thanks to Neville's recommendations on the subject. History of magic took her about an hour to finish even though she wasn't particularly pleased with its state. But since it was a rough draft she could still whip it into a better shape later on. After that came Transfiguration which pretty much required her to copy a chapter on Animagi into the essay.

The subject itself was very interesting, starting from the idea itself only to turn into a bummer the very moment she got into the bit that claimed that Animagi transformation as a subject was reserved to seventh years as it was a very complex branch of magic that required a disciplined mind to achieve it. The bit about African schools approach to teaching Animagi had perked her interest but there was no way that McGonagall would agree to teaching an underage witch or wizard how to achieve Animagi transformation.

Maybe she could ask Arcturus what he thought about it. If she phrased it as something very useful to say spy on a certain Headmaster then maybe, who knew, he could be able to help her with that.

Potions on the other hand was a hell of going back and forth through potions books from first and second year, cross-referencing them with the list of books that Snape left at the beginning of each school year as reference books. She had some of them, certainly from the first year but as last year her Lockhart books had consumed her parents budget, because of that she kept putting off buying them, happy with the use of library books. But now it didn't seem like enough to move her essay from poor to acceptable, let alone exceed expectations, never mind outstanding.

Of course no one other than Malfoy, the bloody ponce, and Snape himself deserved an Outstanding and the best she was able to achieve in that class was bloody Exceed Expectations. It was true that she did exceed expectations but she also knew that a couple of her essays deserved an Outstanding. Harry and Ron with the rest of the class were happy if they managed to scrape enough Acceptables to outweigh their Poors, and Slytherins got better grades than Gryffindors. Neville even admitted to her that he was deliriously proud that the exams had been cancelled last year because Snape surely would make a convincing argument to keep him behind.

That was another thing for Arcturus to mule over, the fairness of Dumbledore's teachers, well, one of them. She didn't mind harsh treatment as long as said treatment was equally harsh to every single student, Slytherins included.

On Monday morning, as soon as her parents had found themselves considerably far away from their street she headed out to meet with Larry and Josephine. Picking her up for another talk with Arcturus was something they both agreed to during the ride back to Hampstead on Thursday. Larry chivalrously believed that in spite of her age she shouldn't be haring around London on her own and happily accepted Josephine's offer to drop them off. Well, she did drop her off and Larry returned with her to London because she hadn't seen him vacating the car.

She found them both seated in Josephine's Princess talking animatedly over something she didn't catch as they both quickly turned to greet her. They didn't resume their talk, asking Hermione instead how she was feeling and how her weekend had been.

She managed to get away with answering, 'awfully uneventful', not that Larry appeared to be convinced.

By nine o'clock Hermione was knocking on the door to 39 Grimmauld Place that opened slightly the very moment she raised her hand to knock again.

Arcturus once again was seated in the armchair in the sitting-room and got up to greet them.

"Before you do anything else we need to talk," said Hermione quickly.

"Fair enough," answered Arcturus as he showed them into the sitting-room.

He sat down in the same armchair and with Hermione taking the opposite one Larry and Josephine got themselves seated on the couch. Once everyone was sitting down Hermione started talking.

She hid nothing, of her own feelings and observations as well as Harry's. She told them right away about the feast and forbidden corridor; about the troll; and attempt on Harry's life during the Quidditch match; she followed that with Harry finding the Mirror of Erised; discovering the fact that the hidden artefact could be the Philosopher's Stone; she talked about Norbert; the trip to the Forbidden Forest. By the time she had gotten to the culmination that was the lead up to the confrontation with the Dark Lord, Josephine was tightly clutching Larry's good hand, Larry was leaning forward with his mouth open and Arcturus vacated the armchair for benefit of walking behind it.

He looked thunderous, as thunderous as he had been when he rescued Hermione after her altercation with Dad. He was practically radiating with barely contained fury.

"Isn't that highly irresponsible of him?" asked Josephine weakly, meaning Dumbledore.

"Responsible isn't one of his names," replied Arcturus grimly. "Have you since then looked up Nicolas Flamel?" he asked as he turned to Hermione.

"Not really, I just assumed that he died. Dumbledore said that he had enough Elixir of Life to…" she paused. "You know tie up loose ends."

Arcturus snorted and muttered something in language she didn't understand.

"English, please," sighed Hermione.

"I said that the only lose end he had to tie were destroying one of his decoys," replied Arcturus grimly.

"Decoys?" asked Hermione, her question was echoed by Larry and Josephine.

"Yeah, decoys," snorted Arcturus. "You think that that wannabe Methuselah just handed over the Philosopher's Stone to Dumbledore because he asked nicely?" he asked with a snort. "He's bloody old but not completely senile," he added grimly. "Since the end of the Greater Muggle War and consequently the fall of Grindelwald he and his wife have been living in total seclusion on their private magic made island in French Polynesia. They still do, at the very least I hadn't heard anything about the sudden migration of magical creatures from out of nowhere to the real islands. That would mean that the old fart actually decided to croak. Not that he would do it, his lifetime ambition was surviving Methuselah and he still has about three hundred or so years left to do that."

"How do you know that?" whispered Hermione in awe.

"Your Grandaunt," replied Arcturus with a grimace. "Flamel's continued existence and his absurdly long-life span never sat well with your ancestors. So, some of them decided to relieve him from it over the centuries. The only thing they did achieve was procuring six copies of it that they kept in their own vaults after they studied them to death. The perseverance of one of them had won him, on his deathbed practically, an honour of inspecting the real stone. The real stone according to him was a small orb only an inch big in its diameter while the decoys, all of the known ones, were more rectangular with jagged edges."

"But why would the Dark Lord have wanted to steal a decoy?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Maybe because he didn't know that it was one?" offered Arcturus. "The privilege of seeing the real thing or reading a description of it was granted only to a few individuals, none of whom were particularly willing to talk about it. Dumbledore worked with him on some alchemical project back in the beginning of the twentieth century. He had to know that it was a decoy."

"And he still brought that thing to Hogwarts," grumbled Larry. "What the hell he was thinking?"

"Well, if I didn't know better, I would say that maybe he was trying to check out the rumours about the Dark Lord's survival," replied Arcturus grimly.

"But you do know better," pointed out Josephine.

"Don't you find it curious that he decided to check it out not in the years that followed the Dark Lord's fall but coincidentally in the year when the Boy Who Lived and Fucked Up a Dark Lord came to Hogwarts?" asked Arcturus pointedly.

"But that would mean that all this time he was setting up a trap for both the wanker and the boy," replied Larry grimly. "To what end?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," replied Arcturus grimly. "But since we're talking about the man who had taken his sweet time with confronting Grindelwald I will let you draw your own conclusion."

"He was angling for another showdown," whispered Hermione.

"One that could go both ways," agreed Arcturus. "The end result doesn't matter. If the boy had won, as he did, it was with Dumbledore's support. If he died however he would have died against Dumbledore's best efforts to keep him alive. Same with the Dark Lord and at the end of the day Dumbledore is still a hero who didn't have to do anything."

"That's barbaric," protested Josephine.

"No, that's the ability to manipulate the narrative, something for which Dumbledore always had a talent for," replied Arcturus simply. "He always got himself involved without actually doing something where he was left with no other option than to rise to the occasion."

"Bastard," grumbled Larry.

"But that isn't all that you have to say, is it?" asked Arcturus pointedly as he looked at Hermione.

So off she went. In more or less chronological order, only backtracking from explaining Lockhart to how Harry's summer looked like and Dobby's determination to keep Harry out of school.

By the time she had gotten to the Chamber of Secrets and revealing Harry's ability to talk with snakes Arcturus groaned, loudly.

"Took you just this much?" she asked with a grimace.

"To be fair I'm an old Slytherin from an old Slytherin family that had centuries to speculate what sort of a monster Slytherin himself could be hiding in his mythical chamber or how it hadn't taken over the entire school," replied Arcturus sourly. "Our best guess was a basilisk or a snake that was magically improved by Salazar Slytherin himself. The plumbing hadn't been invented until many centuries later but had been introduced to Hogwarts when some of the last known heirs of Slytherin had attended it."

"But doesn't basilisk kill people if they look them in the eye?" asked Josephine pensively.

"Direct eye contact," Hermione and Arcturus said in unison.

"You said that there was water on the floor the night the cat was attacked and that the boy was constantly running around with his camera," said Larry pensively.

"I wonder," muttered Arcturus pensively. "Never mind, continue."

And she did. The Polyjuice potion mishap was met with Larry and Josephine's shock and bewildered expression from Arcturus.

"What?" she asked sourly.

"Nothing," replied Arcturus dryly. "I'm just amazed by your dedication to the task. If I was your Potions Professor I would have been proud."

"Well, Snape did take his sweet time with reverting me back into human form and that had to be both a punishment and a compliment by his standards," she replied.

"Well, to be fair, you did steal from his stores so the punishment was justified," replied Arcturus with a shrug. "What happened later?"

She continued with the attack on Justin and Nick which although it happened earlier temporarily slipped from her mind at the time when she was recounting the tale about Polyjuice Potion. That in turn had all three of them nod as soon as she confirmed that they were petrified.

The mention of the diary had Josephine frowning and Larry shaking his head while Arcturus pulled out a long wooden pipe and started to smoke it. Neither of them asked questions however and she continued.

Mention of her own petrification had Josephine gasping and reaching for her but due to the distance that separated them after a moment she settled for grabbing Larry's hand and squeezing in tightly. Larry in turn looked simply angry. Arcturus on the other hand smirked over the end of the pipe.

Of course he concentrated on that, she realised as she found herself flushing slightly. Larry and Josephine were scared, angry and concerned on her behalf while Arcturus simply had chosen to be proud of her for figuring out that Slytherin monster was the basilisk and taking preventative measures to not get herself or another student killed.

Disclosure of Dumbledore's suspension had been accompanied by a loud echoing snort from all three and the tale about Acromantulas had Larry and Josephine shaking their heads while Arcturus continued to smoke his pipe.

She finally finished the story with the best recount she had of what went down in the Chamber of Secrets. Not that Harry liked to repeat what happened again, but he had done so because Hermione asked him.

"That man," whispered Josephine weakly, "should be removed from the school immediately. How are people still trusting them with the care of their children?"

"My best guess is because they don't know what's going on in there," replied Arcturus grimly between drawing in another puff from his pipe.

"But we do," pointed out Larry.

"Because we aren't anyone's parents," Arcturus pointed out. "Well, we aren't parents of any current Hogwarts students. Dumbledore is a Headmaster and as such he controls the owl post."

"But that doesn't exclude grandparents or aunts and uncles from finding out the truth," pointed out Hermione quickly.

"You're saying that only because you believe that all grandparents are involved in raising their grandchildren and that other relatives visit often enough to gain the children's confidence," replied Arcturus. "Wizarding society likes the image of a multigenerational family that stands together but hardly any family does," he added grimly.

"Even purebloods?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Even purebloods," said Arcturus with a nod. "With the exception of very few pureblood families most wizards and witches believe that what's going on in their own home is their own bloody business and that Grandpa Hector or Aunt Fanny should mind their own business. They do tend to present a united front on politics but hardly anyone lives with their parents or grandparents when they have their own children."

"So there's no chance for the word to get out," sighed Hermione heavily.

"There is," replied Arcturus. "Dumbledore does answer to the Board of Governors and the Board of Governors answers to the Ministry of Magic."

"Because that did a lot of good, didn't it," snorted Hermione. "He only got suspended."

"Because removing him from Hogwarts completely hadn't been Malfoy's plan," Arcturus pointed out. "He only needed him gone for long enough to restore the Dark Lord to his former glory."

"But how was that going to work?" asked Josephine sceptically. "It was a diary, granted a sentient thing but just an object."

"No sentient object is just an object," replied Arcturus. "Sentiency of magical objects is born out of magic of wizardfolk. It can be attained through the susceptibility of materials used to create an object or by pouring in them an insane amount of magic."

"What kind of magic?" asked Hermione.

"Not a very light one," snorted Larry as he looked towards Arcturus. "Am I right?"

"Unfortunately," replied Arcturus grimly before he cleaned out his pipe, stuffed it with tobacco again and lit it with a wave of his hand.

"Arcturus?" pressed Larry.

"Thinking," muttered Arcturus. "I'm trying to come up with what it could be beside the obvious conclusion."

"I don't even know the obvious conclusion," muttered Larry.

"Not exactly a field of your expertise," replied Arcturus with a shrug. "It's more up the alley of very old and experienced curse-breakers."

"Which you are not," pointed out Larry.

"But I'm the owner of the best equipped library on the subject of the Dark Arts and like every Head of the Black family before me I was obligated to know which book could leave the house or alternatively under no circumstances shouldn't be allowed to be given to anyone aside of immediate family," answered Arcturus. "There are couple of branches of Dark Magic that due to my forefathers diligence has since gone extinct and a couple of which knowledge in the wizarding world has been pretty limited."

"Such as?" asked Hermione.

"The only one that comes to my mind, considering the level of sentience of the diary coupled with the ability to possess a person so thoroughly, is a Horcrux," replied Arcturus.

"A what?" whispered Larry over Hermione's own, "What?"

"It's an object capable of bearing a piece of someone's soul," replied Arcturus quickly.

"Can anyone do that?" asked Josephine sceptically.

"Luckily, no," answered Arcturus with a shake of his head. "It was conceived in ancient times by fools that believed that greatness could only be achieved through literal immortality rather than immortality through their deeds. They have been attributed to Herpo the Foul, coincidentally the man responsible for creating the first basilisk. The process of creating one is…" he paused for a moment to take a puff from his pipe, "not worth the price that's the semblance of immortality."

"Because it only protects the soul not the body," said Larry pensively.

"Then there's the nature of the magic required to create one. Foul, dark and very corruptible that turned many decent wizards into foul creatures that eventually had to be destroyed," continued Arcturus grimly. "So by wizards of some sense and semblance of morality they were deemed as not worth the hassle."

"But that didn't stop those that lacked it from creating one," pointed out Hermione.

"Indeed," replied Arcturus.

"So the Dark Lord has created one," said Hermione. "But Harry destroyed it."

"With an extraordinary bit of luck," muttered Larry. "Then what's bothering you?"

"Whether or not it had only been this one," replied Arcturus grimly. "Regardless of personal preferences no one can disagree with the statement that the Dark Lord was a very powerful man."

"And you believe that this one might not be the only one," replied Larry. "Oh, Merlin," he groaned. "Threes, sevens, nines, twelves and twenty-ones," he muttered.

"Mhm," hummed Arcturus.

"We're screwed," groaned Larry.

"Mhm," Arcturus hummed again in agreement. "Although to be fair he's rather slow in his quest of regaining his full power and that's not something that he can do on his own. There's very little point in counting your basilisks before they hatch and I do need to do some research on the subject. Why don't we move on to something more cheerful?"

"You know that if you need anything…" said Larry hesitantly.

"I know your morality and I know where to find you should I need assistance," replied Arcturus simply. "Not that I will be needing it for a little while as the books I will need to consult are more likely to bite off your fingers rather than allow you to open them. It's not as if you have enough appendages to spare them."

"Oh, piss off," snorted Larry.

"Oh, hush, he's teasing," chastised him Josephine. "I have a feeling that if he didn't want to include you he would just make you forget ever meeting him again. But I'm puzzled why…" she started but didn't finish the sentence as she looked at Arcturus anxiously.

"Why I wouldn't do the same thing to someone who considers themselves as useless?" offered Arcturus. "Simply, because I don't consider you useless, Mrs Turner. You might not have magical powers but you have something far more valuable than that, your knowledge and understanding of the world that excluded you. That's the area in which our young charge has shortcomings," he added as he looked at Hermione. "It's not your fault rather than that of your educators but you do have them."

"I'm not as well equipped as you think," said Josephine slowly.

"You have the basics and I'm sure that with a little bit of reviewing and reading up you will be able to provide Hermione with a comprehensive review of what every magical child from a magical family should know," replied Arcturus. "And you obviously care for her, which is half of the job of any guardian."

"How do you know?" asked Josephine curiously.

"Well, if all you were in for was Lawrence's charm you wouldn't be here now, would you?" asked Arcturus dryly.

"You're spying on us?" asked Larry incredulously.

"Obviously," replied Arcturus just as Hermione snorted out the same word. "Being officially dead suited me till now and still will continue to suit me for a while longer. Very few wars are won in the open field, far more are won in the shadows, through subterfuge and removing obstacles, through very slowly moving the lines…"

"Well, we do know how the last open wars ended for both sides," admitted Larry with a soft snort. "What do you require of me then?"

"Nothing outside of your usual work," replied Arcturus. "You were always a keen observer and a good listener and that's all that I need until I will get through the library."

"So you basically want me to take up on drinking in various establishments," replied Larry.

"Lawrence, I've seen you nurse a pint of the same beer for twelve hours while we were in France," commented Arcturus. "Moving on," he added quickly. "Something that I had forgotten to include last time but I figured that I'd dropped quite a lot on you," he added as with a flick of the wands that suddenly appeared in his hand a small rectangular box soared towards the table from the shelf in the back of the room.

It had landed right in front of him on the coffee table and he opened it right away, pulling out of it an envelope.

"It's the authenticated deed to this property that grants you solitary ownership of it as per the bequest of your aunt's last will and testament. Up until you're of age it remains under my trusteeship that's rendered pretty much into ensuring proper warding and caring out necessary improvements. I cannot however prevent you from accessing it at any time should you desire to do so," explained Arcturus in an official-sounding tone. "Not that I would do that mind you, it's just your aunt in that aspect was mite paranoid. The house is entitled to you and you only, should you predecease your guardians it won't be inherited by them. Alternatively, it will never be considered as a part of joint assets of you and your future husband. The only people capable of inheriting it are your future children, should you decide to have any."

"What happens if she dies childless?" asked Larry sceptically.

"Then it will return to the Black family trusteeship and its fate will be decided by the Head of the Black family," replied Arcturus simply.

"That doesn't exactly paint a good picture," said Larry with a grimace.

"I disagree," replied Arcturus. "It wasn't Miranda's job to look after the fate of Hermione's future husband but if it would be a man worthy of her affection and hand then surely he would also be responsible enough to not depend on her dowry."

"Please tell me that she didn't…" whispered Hermione.

"All right, if you don't want to know then I will move to another business on the agenda which is…" said Arcturus as he placed down the envelope and pulled out of the box another one.

"All right, I've changed my mind," said Hermione quickly, more worried about what else Arcturus would reveal that additional bequests from her Aunt.

Arcturus smirked at her, it was a quick, blink and you will miss it thing, and then he continued, "In addition to the deed you've been named sole beneficiary of all the liquid assets held on the day of her death by Miranda Black…"

"But Mirzam…." started Larry but Josephine quickly shushed him.

"That excludes the contents of her personal vault that had been entitled away to other beneficiaries as it was held under her other name. But since it only included the wages she had collected from her work for the Ministry it isn't something to worry about. The other property I told you about has been liquidated and the profit from that were put into two accounts upon your birth. One of them is a trustee vault which finances your magical education until graduation from Hogwarts. The other is a dowry vault with which you can do as you damn please upon reaching your full legal maturity. Both remain under the management of the Black family goblin until that point," continued Arcturus. "Luckily for a certain Headmaster he's not aware that your parents have also been paying for you otherwise we will have another goblin wizard murder on our hands."

"I don't know," said Hermione sourly, "you might consider letting him in on that."

"I will, in due time," replied Arcturus. "Next thing on the agenda is this," he added as he reached for the envelope he discarded earlier. "It's my last will and testament, something that pissed off a lot of people upon my supposed death as it plainly excludes beneficiaries from finding out about the other people's eventual bequests. The only person aside from the family goblin or his descendants, not that he's very likely to croak anytime soon, is my sole heir to the property and titles."

"Sirius," whispered Hermione.

"And because he's forbidden any contact with the outside world he's unaware of that fact," muttered Larry. "What about after him? It's not as if he will ever leave Azkaban and when he was arrested he had no living children."

"He did have and still has a living godson who is the sole beneficiary of his last will and testament. Since that was his last known last will and testament…"

"And Harry is still his godson," nodded Hermione.

"Upon Sirius's death or reaching the age of legal maturity whichever comes first, should Sirius chose to not alter the will, Harry Potter will receive a limited access to the Black family vaults and properties that will be turned into full access of them upon reaching magical maturity," continued Arcturus.

"And you didn't try to overthrow it?" asked Larry sceptically.

"And how exactly would I have benefited from that?" asked Arcturus pointedly. "I'm the Head of the Black family, Sirius is my sole heir of that title and as such he can appoint as the next heir whomever he fucking pleases. His last will and testament named his godson as the sole beneficiary of everything that legally belongs to him now and would belong to him upon his death."

"And that's another reason why you want to lure Harry to your side," said Hermione pensively. "If he's unaware of the familial connection and responsibilities he's far more likely to just give the entire fortune away. And while parts of it might go to charities and do something useful to society you're worried that a lion's share will end up in Dumbledore's control."

"Splendid reasoning, ten points to Gryffindor," said Arcturus simply. "I've seen what he did with the Potters assets. They were never as rich as the Blacks but potion making, cosmetic potion making in particular, has always been a profitable industry. Even after Charlus's fuckups the family could afford a luxurious lifestyle if they desired to live one. Weirdly in the months prior to their deaths the Potter accounts, with the exception of the trustee vault entitled to Harry, had been nearly drained dry. That one continues to be supplemented by money from Fleamont and Henry's patents but most of them will lose validity within next two to three years. From that day forward, provided that he spends out all of the contents of it on some teenage whim the boy would be broke like a church's mouse."

"And how do you know that?" asked Larry sceptically.

"Because the boy is a minor and as one he doesn't receive annual reports about the balance of the family vaults but someone appointed as his guardian, say a godfather does and what his godfather doesn't get eventually makes its way to you," said Josephine pensively.

Arcturus beamed at her.

"So, to sum it all up," said Hermione grimly. "Dumbledore screwed Harry out of a proper magical upbringing, left him with people unfit of rearing an animal let alone a magical child, while at the same time he somehow managed to drain his family funds and to put the cherry on the bloody top he took him into his school only to deliberately place him in danger."

"And weirdly he's still breathing," muttered Larry.

"Well, revenge is a dish served best at freezing temperatures," replied Arcturus.

"Well, my Pa always said that before you embark on the journey of revenge you should dig up two graves," commented Larry with a snort.

"But I'm already dead, Lawrence," said Arcturus dryly. "And I'm not going to just go up to him and kill him," he added with a grimace. "There are many kinds of death, some far more painful than the others. No, I want his death to be like the one he intended for my grandson, in isolation, with no support, no name and no honour. That's the death that Albus Dumbledore deserves, death of his legend before the physical death, which might arrive many, many years from the first one," he added grimly but with a vicious glint in his eyes.

"Sign me up for that," said Josephine quickly. "For what he did with that school alone in the last two years he deserves to be chucked into Azkaban."

"Wait until you hear what he has done prior to that," snorted Arcturus.

"You don't really have to convince me," said Larry with a shrug.

"Well, I'm still going to his school but there are things which I can fuck up with, with a little bit of guidance," said Hermione.

"Speaking of which before I will forget about it again," said Arcturus quickly as he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled another envelope from it. "The quest for truth about your parentage," he added as he leaned forward to pass Hermione the envelope.

She took it from his hand and stared at it. It looked like a solitary sheet of parchment bent in two with an official looking seal on it. But as she examined it further she realised that never mind the seal, with a little bit of effort anyone could read what was written inside it.

"Am I supposed to believe that you never felt tempted to look inside?" she asked sceptically.

"I have and I did," admitted Arcturus with a small grimace. "But since I know…" he grimaced again.

She opened the letter, breaking the seal in the process and stared at what was written inside.

_Marquez Pierre de Pagaille. 666 Place Cachée, Paris._

_Never answers his door before noon. Quite whimsical with whom he lets in. Highly likely to accept money as his stash of gold seems to be running out but his asking price is 1000 galleons Alternatively will accept a controlled substance, has a thing for phoenixes so a bottle of phoenix tears from A might become useful. Curious about Muggles and Muggle history, so I suggest starting with that._

_Best of luck,_

_M._

_P. S. Accept everything that A will offer you._

_M._

"Marquez Pierre de Pagaille," she read out.

Larry snorted into his tea and Arcturus relit his pipe.

"Who's that?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Reg's favourite troublemaker," replied Larry and he coughed.

"A menace that every indiscreet French pureblood of the eighteenth century and beyond has feared," replied Arcturus with a smirk.

"Bastard son of de Marsouin family," added Josephine pensively. "A potion master if I remember correctly that came up with the idea of mapping bloodlines."

"An idea that he had stolen from his British distant cousins and bastardised into his own use," added Arcturus. "Have you ever heard about family trees of purebloods?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"Well, they are susceptible to the will of the head of the house and therefore cannot always be trusted to show the truth," explained Arcturus. "Nobody likes having their indiscretions advertised to the family let alone the public. Therefore bastard children, as common as they have always been, had always trouble proving their parentage. De Pagaille made a living out of that. Thanks to his amenable nature and natural charm he managed to obtain samples of blood from many pureblood families, mostly French but also German and Spanish, with a couple of British fools…"

"And using them he created something akin to a bank of genetic information of old pureblood families," added Josephine.

"Since his work relies on collecting blood over the centuries he only improved it with added bloodlines and names of someone's bastards and descendants," added Larry.

"If he's from the eighteenth century and has worked for centuries does that mean…" started Hermione.

"That he's dead?" finished Arcturus for her. "Very much so. Murdered by his own brother at the ripe old age of forty-something. Luckily for him he managed to keep his workshop safe from his brother's wrath and due to his foresight he still continues to maintain that address even though he's a ghost. He always had been a thorn in the side of French Ministry, a staunch supporter of ghost rights."

"Why have I never heard of him?" muttered Hermione.

"Likely to not give you or your classmates any stupid ideas," replied Arcturus dryly. "Binns as a professor has many weaknesses. One of them are goblins and the other was de Pagaille as his family had lost their fortune to Binns senior's indiscretion that was confirmed by the lad in de Pagaille's workshop."

"If you knew that already why didn't you go to him yourself?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Because I don't need to go to him to know what you will find as I already know your parents' names. It's your mother's curse that's prevents me from revealing them to you. It's you and not me who needs to convince de Pagaille to help you find out their names," replied Arcturus. "And to do so he needs your blood, surrendered willingly I should add."

"Okay," nodded Hermione slowly. "What about this?" she asked as she leaned forward and handed the letter back to Arcturus.

"Aha," hummed Arcturus with a small grin. "Atta girl," he added after a moment, still grinning before he reached into the front pocket of his jacket.

Instead of another letter he pulled out something that from a distance looked like two pendants on a very flimsy silvery chain. Once he had them in his hand he stood up, approached Hermione and gestured at her to get up.

Which she did to quickly find the chain clasped around her neck.

"What's this?" she asked softly.

"Something that every Black child while travelling abroad gets as a security measure…" started Arcturus.

"But I'm not a Black child," protested Hermione weakly.

"You're a Black family ward and as such you're considered as a Black child," explained Arcturus before he continued. "It's a portkey that should the need arise will take you to the Black manor or this place, but for that you will have to concentrate on this destination when you reach for it. The other thing is a trinket that I always found helpful while travelling abroad. It enhances your understanding of foreign languages, something that might be useful when dealing with an old French fart. All of them are charmed to appear invisible to anyone's eye unless you let them know about them, they're also imbued with protective charms that will keep the chain from breaking and being removed by someone else's hand other than yours or mine."

Hermione examined both pendants closely, they were made from silver and had emeralds imbued in them.

"I can't accept them," she whispered. "They look costly."

"Oh, balderdash," snorted Arcturus. "I have more jewellery than ideas of what to do with them. Sure some of them shouldn't be worn by anyone as they're cursed but the only thing which the others are doing is gathering dust either in the vault or back at the manor. And like I already said, you can't lose them unless you remove them yourself."

Hermione hesitated.

"Miranda would have wanted you to have them," added Arcturus slyly. "She would have my head on the pike if she ever found out that I let you go abroad without them."

"Okay," whispered Hermione softly.

"Atta girl," replied Arcturus dryly.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** The long overdue trip to France leads to discovering certain truths.


	17. 30th, 31st July & 6th August 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finally heeds to France to learn more about her parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 5600.
> 
> **The last chapter of this story will be posted on Tuesday 8th December.**
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen**

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter seventeen: 30** **th** **, 31** **st** **July & 6** **th** **August 1993**

The remainder of Hermione's stay in England prior to leaving for France passed mostly under the sign of finishing her summer essays between afternoon conversations with Josephine.

Although a squib Josephine received a cultural upbringing that Hermione envied her a little. She talked about books that most wizarding children got to read before heading to Hogwarts. She spoke of classics like ' _The Tales of Beedle The Bard'_ that from the sound of them sounded scarier than anything the Grimm brothers had produced. She spoke of plays, some of them sounded worthy of seeing at some point in the future. She made fun out of the wizarding music of her youth and curiously enough current trends. She had a wicked sense of humour and a laugh that very much reminded Hermione of her Grandma. Not that it was very surprising because relatively quickly Hermione learned that Josephine had granddaughters, two of them, though only one of them she was seeing on a somewhat regular basis.

Larry also managed to drop by, on Wednesday, masquerading himself as an encyclopaedia salesman and was doing his best to be a convincing encyclopaedia salesman that he had Hermione in stitches before he finished his tirade on the importance of encyclopaedias. He brought with him two gifts. One was from him, a somewhat old but supposedly still reliable, ' _A Travel Guide For British Wizards Vacationing in France'_. The other was a gift from Arcturus, who asked him to take a look and ensure that everything about it was in perfect order before he gave it to Hermione.

It was a schoolbag and not just any schoolbag but one that, according to Arcturus's letter inside it, was a birthday gift Miranda had received from her sister, Hermione's biological mother. It was made out of dark leather that according to Larry to Muggles appeared as ordinary while it was really a fine quality dragonhide. It had two pockets that were both enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm, a Feather-light Charm and Confundus Charms that when opened caused them to look like an ordinary Muggle schoolbag with an actual bottom to anyone other than Hermione. The strap and fastening according to Larry were reinforced and charmed against thieves.

It was only after Larry had left when she discovered along with Arcturus's note another gift from him, three pouches. The smallest one contained about one hundred galleons, in galleons and sickles and for some reason every time she tried to count them down she was off by three to five galleons. The note attached to it claimed that it was meant for fun. The second pouch also claimed to contain money for fun but rather than galleons it contained French Francs, about a thousand of them, give or take a ten or twenty. The third pouch, the biggest of them all had a note attached to it that claimed to be meant ' _For the French Fart_ '. It was also the only one of them which contents had stayed the same. Aside of them the bag also contained a small box, no bigger than her palm with a tiny, fragile looking bottle inside that claimed to contain phoenix tears.

To say that she was floored by the gesture was an understatement. She was also slightly put out by her inability to at the very least thank the man due to the lack of an owl.

This was the greatest time to persuade her parents to let her get one. Way back when she was first heading to Hogwarts Dad scoffed at their price and their usefulness, making jokes that surely wizards would be able to come up with something faster. Back then Hermione didn't have any wizarding friends (or friends at all) to worry about it but with great relief she discovered that Hogwarts had school owls for students that didn't have one to use. Then there was Hedwig, whom during the school year Harry used very sparingly and whom he offered to Ron and Hermione to use on occasions when Hedwig started to look like she was itching for a long flight.

Mum and Grandma adored Hedwig, not just for her physical beauty but also her grace and behaviour. Mum even considered convincing Dad to splurge for an owl for Hermione's birthday last year but between her grandparents' deaths and the absurd cost of Lockhart's books it was just something that slipped by. She did get a gift, a thoughtful and useful one but not an owl.

As useful as owls were in the wizarding world they were a ridiculously pricy purchase as their training was costly and then there was the nature of owls that could be trained. Snowy owls for example were ridiculously hard to train and quite capricious in their nature to even succumb to the training. So as beautiful as Hedwig had been Hermione knew that she wouldn't be getting a snowy owl herself. But little owls and pygmy owls were easy to train and in an affordable range.

Deciding to leave that argument for later she simply settled for passing her gratitude to Arcturus through Josephine.

Packing for the trip had taken her very little time, thanks to the schoolbag because everything that didn't fit into the two bags assigned to Hermione went into the schoolbag as she tried to determine its limit. In so far she discovered that it didn't have one, as long as what she wanted to put in there managed to fit through the opening. She even managed to put Harry's gift in there, with all of her schoolbooks and notebooks because who knew, they could become useful, and she still had the History of Magic summer essay to polish.

The first week of the vacation passed in quite a leisurely manner. They travelled through Northern France, sparing time for visiting interesting sites of both Muggle and wizarding nature. Then they had ended up in the Loire Valley which was such a beautiful place filled with beautiful châteaux. But as beautiful as it was it was devoid of magical communities in any acceptable driving distance.

Unfortunately that was what she found herself needing through the last couple of days with Harry's gift safely tucked in her schoolbag and the looming day of his upcoming birthday. Had it been a book she would have felt inclined to use the Muggle post office to send it, but she couldn't imagine what would happen if customs officers opened that.

Luckily on the late morning of 30th July while Hermione and her parents had been slowly finishing their breakfast and she was contemplating pleading Dad just to drive to Vichy, which was the closest magical community with a post office that she could find in the travel guide, she heard a familiar hoot coming from the roof of the caravan.

She looked up and smiled at the sight of Hedwig seated on the edge of the roof. The owl hooted again before she flew down and landed on the arm of Hermione's chair.

"Oh, you're the best," said Hermione as she beamed at the owl and immediately reached for a piece of beacon to offer it to Hedwig who accepted it eagerly.

"Why?" asked Dad sceptically.

"Because I have a present for Harry and I had no idea how to post it," she replied.

"Did post offices suddenly stop working?" muttered Dad.

"If I could safely send it through them I already would have," replied Hermione. "Actually, I was planning to ask you to take a small break to drive to the nearest magical community with a post office…"

"I see no reason why the lad shouldn't get the present…" started Dad but Mum silenced him with a look.

"Take your time then, your Dad and I will finish up the washing. I'm sure that you have a lot to tell your friend," she said.

She had, and a lot didn't simply cover the magnitude of what she had to tell Harry. And therein lay the crux. There was no doubt in her mind that Harry needed to be told everything she'd learned but the problem lay with his current location and Dumbledore's hold on Harry. Fan mail was something that Harry didn't receive, either at Hogwarts or at the Dursleys, that much she managed to find out over the last couple of years. Therefore it was evident that one of the wards around Harry's place, Hogwarts or even Harry himself filtered appropriate mail for him. Hogwarts and Ministry letters as well as that from Hermione and Ron could get through it but no others. And if they could get through there was no telling of the limit of Dumbledore's invigilation into Harry's private affairs.

So the letter that she eventually sent to Harry, along with his gift and the birthday card, was something that she wrote and rewrote several times through the past week. Eventually she had settled for a predictable, very old Hermione, brief summary of her own vacation, her worry over his present being opened at customs and Ron's news about the Weasleys trip to Egypt and news of Percy getting the Head Boy badge.

She wanted to write more. If only to get some things off her chest, but in the end she decided against that. Eventually Harry needed to be told everything and then she would have to reveal to him how she had gotten into this mess in the first place. For now it was better to not invite more trouble.

Next day, the day of Harry's birthday, found them in Tours. Curiously enough in a hotel as Mum decided last night that they needed to take the advantage of laundry services and a day of pampering.

The latter had started with a breakfast in the form of room service after which Mum dragged Dad to a spa. She also invited Hermione but the only thing that Hermione wanted to use was the swimming pool and she planned to go there a bit later in the day. For now she wanted to work on the notes she made on the French burning practices of wizardfolk as the approach of the French wizards were slightly different than that of the British wizards. And to be fair she already told Harry that she'd done it, she just failed to admit that the whole thing was in pieces.

So once her parents had left and a nice maid cleaned up the room after breakfast, she happily spread out her notes on the table. In the background a radio was humming softly the usual morning mixture of news and breakfast guests talking about issues that didn't concern her much. But when she woke up earlier it was playing a nice sounding mixture of French pop and classics and she hoped that once the breakfast program was done they would come back to that.

She was debating whether or not she should include in the essay the bits about the insane wizard Jean-Paul that actually managed to burn to death when she heard a distinct click-click sound against the window. When she glanced up from her essay towards it she spotted a little owl perched on the windowsill outside. It didn't look like a Hogwarts owl, they were usually bigger and official looking, and never had a problem with announcing their presence.

She got up from the table and opened the window, letting in both the owl and morning breeze into the room. The owl hoped inside and stuck out her leg towards Hermione.

She took the letter from the owl and examined it first without opening it. Unlike most magical correspondence that was written on parchment the envelope was made out of paper that appeared to be of high quality. It bore no seals, just her name calligraphed in a somewhat familiar handwriting. The same one she saw in Arcturus's letter.

What could possibly have happened for him to send her a letter that wasn't mysteriously delivered to her via other party. So with slightly shaking hands she opened it.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I hope that your vacation is going well as regardless of my personal feelings towards French folk it's a beautiful country that can capture a man's attention for days if not weeks. Since you haven't reached out to any of us I'm assuming that you haven't gotten to Paris as without a doubt you would have sent word if you had._

_Things back on English soil are far from ideal. Not that they were ideal in the first place, but the only thing I had to worry about until now was our legal system. Now however another problem had arisen. Like I already told you, one of my faults is incredulity, something I hoped that I managed to uproot from myself, but the events of the last few days only proved that I should be more open-minded and perspicacious about other people's intelligence._

_If the news haven't reached you by now then I'm certain that they will reach you soon enough as Josephine and Lawrence respectively warned me that it has hit the news in both worlds already. The French might be a little behind on British news but without a doubt they will catch up on that soon enough._

_A couple of days ago, it's hard for me to gauge whether it was two or three days ago, my most unfortunate grandson decided that he was fed up with his hosts' hospitality and decided to vacate the premises of his last known lodgings. Nobody knows how he managed it or precisely when. All that's known is that he was where he was supposed to be one day and gone the next._

_I won't lie and deny my relief at the thought that he isn't there anymore. That place long has been forsaken by both God and Magi and no innocent man deserves what he surely has been through. Not that my relief isn't tampered with worry, because it is. It's been barely a couple of days and the manhunt according to Lawrence is massive and has spread out into the Muggle world._

_My only hope is that he has enough sense left in him to hide from the pursuit in one of the many residences that belong to our family. He hasn't reached one yet by the time I'm penning this letter but if he does then I will know._

_The other issues we discussed are very slow going and I found myself greatly distracted from my search by the current problem at hand. But I'm doing my best._

_I'm sorry to burden you with this news but I thought that it was prudent that you would hear about it from me rather than from the news. To protect both of us this letter will turn into ashes as soon as you've read it._

_Take care of yourself._

_Arcturus_

_P. S. I managed to fine tune the post wards to allow your correspondence through so if you need anything just ask._

_A._

As promised, the very moment she finished reading the letter it turned into fine ash that mostly flew out of the window and only a little on the floor. But she paid no attention to that, already making her way towards the TV set.

Luckily for her the hotel had cable TV and she quickly located BBC. Waiting for news however took some time. But after some time in a break between programs she caught the sight of breaking news.

She barely registered the special number on the screen and the reporter mention that Black was armed and very dangerous as she focused all of her attention on the man on the screen. Even slightly distorted by a little grainy image Sirius looked very much like Arcturus. They had an eerily similar facial structure, identical noses and the same pale eyes. Hair however was something on which the similarities ended, both wore them long but while Arcturus's were steel grey, it was always neatly tied back and barely reaching his shoulder blades. Sirius's on the other hand was waist long, messy, black in colour and hanging around his gaunt face like curtains.

It was the gauntness that struck her. She didn't exactly know much about the ins and outs of the Muggle justice system but she knew that no self-respecting director of any prison in the Muggle world would have allowed any of the prisoners under his or her care to look like that. A mass-murderer or thief was still a human being that deserved being treated like such, even if the extent of being treated like a human being was being fed properly. Compared to anyone Sirius looked like a ghost.

The photograph disappeared giving way into some daytime TV program but the image of Sirius stayed with her. A man locked up in Azkaban for close to twelve years without a proper trial. Publicly ostracized and deemed guilty without any right to defend himself.

The man who in a different world, in different circumstances would have ended up raising her, and Harry. And Harry didn't know. Her heart squeezed in her chest painfully and she looked towards the window but the little owl was already gone.

Not that writing another letter to Harry would have done any of them any good.

Stay safe, she sent a small prayer for the man, stay safe because Harry needs you. Now probably more than ever.

_6_ _th_ _August 1993, Paris._

Getting to Paris had taken them a truly ridiculous amount of time all things considered, especially with how close they had been to the city the entire time. Eventually on late evening of 5th August they arrived at their hotel which was located on Rue de Rochebrune, which was a stone throw away from Place Cachée. That suited Hermione just fine.

The only problem she had was how to discourage her parents from following her to Place Cachée. Because sure as hell they weren't going to let her out of their sight in such a big, foreign city like Paris.

It had eventually taken her a lot of groaning and grumbling from her bed that she just wanted to be left alone because she had gotten her period. Mum kept hesitating but between groans Hermione kept insisting that she shouldn't lose a day in Paris too. So eventually they left, leaving Hermione a tip for room service, a sheet of ibuprofen and a breakfast which mum brought to her room. They promised to return around six o'clock in the evening for dinner.

After they left she wasted a solid hour on packing and repacking her schoolbag before she finally slipped out of the hotel without returning her key. It was best not to invite trouble. Dad paid for three nights up front for both of their rooms but if she turned in the key the receptionist would surely mention that to her parents.

The trip to the location of the Place Cachée took her a couple of minutes but getting to the entrance was a bit tricky. The travelling guide she got from Larry told what kind of statue she needed to find and where to find it, but checking whether or not it was the right one had taken some time. Finally she fixated herself on a young, blonde-haired woman that loitered around the statue for an absurdly long time just like her and using the old mirror trick she turned her back towards the statue and watched how the woman leaned against the stone pillar and disappeared.

It had taken Hermione only two minutes to follow her.

Place Cachée was something. It didn't look better than Diagon Alley or particularly different from the northern part of the alley. The buildings around the entrance looked much like the townhouses of Short Street, a tall mix of wider and narrower tenement houses.

The shops that surrounded the entrance were similar to the ones in Diagon Alley. There was an apothecary, a Quidditch supply shop, stationary shop and a giant bookstore that tempted her. But knowing herself and her ability to lose time in bookshops she resisted the lure of it for finding 666 Place Cachée.

The building wasn't too far removed from the entrance judging the numbers that surrounded it as the entrance to Place Cachée appeared to be located not at one of the ends of it, rather in the middle, but the numbering of the place was a bloody horror as she soon discovered.

Number 456 instead of being surrounded with buildings under the numbers of 454 and 458 shared walls with 450 and 462. Here and there she managed to spot a traditional neighbourhood numbering of following even and uneven numbers on each side of the street. But for most of the time numbering made no sense.

She walked past 666 Place Cachée three times before it finally occurred to her to go through the open door to the inner square of 662 Place Cachée. It looked much like the playground of Grimmauld Place and had a nice fountain in the middle of it. As she looked around the square she spotted number 664 on a side of a tenement house on her left and 670 on the one on her right. That meant that 666 and 668 had to be on the other side of the square.

She walked around the square paying very little attention to a group of old wizards that were observing a game of chess while eating a late breakfast or early lunch. There was also a small group of mothers of various ages minding their brood between gossiping with each other. No one appeared to pay her any attention whatsoever which was good.

666 Place Cachée compared to its neighbours looked a bit out of place. It was a tall and narrow townhouse squeezed between two tenement homes. It looked like it tried its best to emulate the looks of the surrounding buildings but was failing miserably. It looked old and unkempt.

She approached it slowly, glancing down at her watch. It was nearing ten and Miranda warned her that de Pagaille wasn't going to answer the door before noon. Since he was the only lead she had she was unwilling to piss him off.

At the very least she knew where to find him, she decided, wondering what she should do next. She wasn't exactly keen of the idea of staying in the square for the next two hours. It was better to avoid drawing attention to herself. Well, there was a coffee shop on the other side of the street and she was getting better at holding down her food and battling nausea.

But just as she was about to turn on her heel and head out of the square the door to the townhouse flew open and a ghost of a man appeared by it. He looked like quite the typical man of his era. He had an enormous curly wig (or real hair, it was hard to judge from a distance) that was reaching his chest. He was wearing breeches, tights and a vest over which was thrown on a long cloak.

As he looked at her he narrowed his eyes and said through gritted teeth, "No soliciting."

Something in the way he said it stung and she felt a somewhat familiar ire rising inside. Somewhat worried about the last time it happened she hesitated whether or not she should give into it but a strange calmness enveloped her at the same time and she gave into it. If Miranda felt that she needed her then she needed her and she'd already have dealt with that French ponce.

"I'm a customer not a whore Mounsier de Pagaille," she replied icily. "It doesn't look like you're getting any of them these days. I'm sure that over the centuries your work has managed to attract enough attention for someone to duplicate it. But if you wish so I will take my galleons elsewhere."

De Pagaille hesitated for a moment and it seemed that she managed to strike a nerve.

"Five thousand galleons," he muttered finally.

"One thousand galleons, a bottle of phoenix tears and if you behave like a gentleman I might even tell you about how Muggles managed to send a man to the moon," she replied briskly.

De Pagaille hesitated again but finally he grimaced and floated aside allowing her entrance inside the house.

"Why don't you, like these wretched people of the wild west, put your money where your mouth is?" he asked as soon as she was inside.

In answer to that, Hermione pulled out the pouch with one thousand galleons inside it, devoid of Arcturus's note, and showed it to him, making sure that it made a just loud enough clang.

"Put it down," de Pagaille instructed her.

"Nope," she replied simply, popping the p for a good measure. "First your service, then your payment Mounsier de Pagaille. I wasn't born yesterday."

"You were to me," replied de Pagaille with a snort. "And in my era wenches your age treated older people with respect."

"Well, in my era respect is something which one has to earn. Those that have, spoke quite highly of your work and encouraged me to seek you out," she replied.

"Yet, here you are, alone," said de Pagaille stiffly.

"I make no habit of bringing my godparents to a family vacation," she said simply. "Do we have a deal or not?"

"Fine," sighed de Pagaille heavily. "But I need coffee first, it's way too damn early. Follow me."

He led her down the stairs to a basement that was filled with floor to ceiling bookcases. Some of the shelves were filled with books while others held jars of potion ingredients. The basement had no windows and was dimly lit with candles. In the middle of it stood a giant table, mostly dominated with a massive blank canvas next to which was an empty cauldron.

"Ella!" called out de Pagaille as soon as they entered. "Coffee for me and base for the cauldron at haste."

He barely finished saying the sentence when a cup of coffee appeared next to the cauldron. Moments after that the cauldron was filled with a pearly white substance and a fire was lit under it.

"Now it's your turn," said de Pagaille as he leaned over the table enough to inhale the aroma of the coffee. "Take the silver knife from the table," he gestured to the lone knife that was laying by the canvas. "Now stab yourself with it enough to draw blood. Doesn't need to be deep but enough to fill out the spoon over there," he gestured towards the small, coffee spoon that was lying next to the knife. "Once you're done drop the blood into the cauldron and find yourself a place to sit for the next hour."

She did as she was instructed, on a whim picking her left ring finger. De Pagaille was a ghost and an arse so it was highly likely that she would have to explain the injury to her parents. Weirdly as soon as the spoon was filled with her blood she felt a distinct trickle of magic on her injured finger and as she looked at it she found it completely healed.

"Ella," muttered de Pagaille with a grimace. "Can't live with her, can't live without her. She's a menace but a menace with two working hands which suits me just fine as long as she doesn't talk."

"House-elf?" she asked sceptically.

"Please, don't talk and sit down," replied de Pagaille as he leaned over the cup of coffee again.

So she did. She found herself the nearest stool and waited for an hour in complete silence, interrupted only by the bubbling cauldron while she was doing her best to not give in to her anxiety.

Who would she find here, she wondered. Miranda was here which meant that she used de Pagaille's service for herself, which meant that she'd found her ancestors, which also meant that while most likely it wouldn't show Hermione's mother's name but it might show a common ancestor she and Miranda had shared, and with name of one she could ask Arcturus or Larry about the known living descendants. Well, most likely Arcturus, as it seemed prudent that a head of an old pureblood house would know a thing or two about other houses.

Finally the waiting period was over and the fire under the cauldron went out.

"Now pour yourself a cup and drink while it's still warm. Oh, and try to not throw up, it upsets Ella," said de Pagaille briskly.

He was done with inhaling his coffee and was perched on the table by one of the bookcases, reading a book that was laying open next to him.

She poured the potion into the second cup that appeared by the cauldron and stared at the pearly red concoction. It looked quite well but smelt awful and trying to drink it without gagging let alone throwing up took a considerable effort.

"The funny part is about to begin," said de Pagaille as he floated towards the table when she was nearing the bottom of the cup. "It's fairly simple. The canvas is a bank of blood of anyone that ever used it. If they're related to you by blood their name will appear on the canvas. As you're a foreigner it's a hit or miss but you might find a distant relative. The darker their name is on canvas the closer is the relation between you. Black stands for parent and at five generations backwards the names starts to turn grey. Anything further than ten generations requires a spell to be seen. Got that?"

"Got that," confirmed Hermione before she quickly downed last two sips of the potion. "What do I do now?"

"Take the knife again and puncture a finger, doesn't matter which one. You only need one drop of blood then place the bloodied finger on the canvas," explained de Pagaille.

She did as instructed and stared at the empty canvas. Something in the way de Pagaille spoke implied that the result was instantaneous and her breath hitched slightly when she saw that nothing happened.

"I provided the services," said de Pagaille simply. "I expect the money I earned."

More like your elf did, thought Hermione grimly as she continued looking at the empty canvas.

"For a foreigner it can take some time. Unfortunately I wasn't able to index the name chronologically and the index runs in alphabetical order. Over the years about a thousand people have used my services so if say you're related to the Zabinis it will take some time. About half of an hour or so," added de Pagaille sourly. "Can I have my money now?"

Hermione nodded and handed him the pouch with one thousand galleons and after a moment of hesitation she also pulled out a vial of phoenix tears and placed it on the table. If he kicked her out now then she would have to come back there with Arcturus and Larry.

Minutes trickled by with this absurd slowness that occurs usually when one waits for something they're dreading or hoping to happen. For Hermione it was a mixture of both. She wanted to know the truth and at the same time she found herself dreading what she would find. Well, it was too late now to turn back.

Finally, something started to materialise slowly in the bottom third of the canvas slowly stretching from a dark blob into a black name in a spidery handwriting.

She stared at it in shock, feeling a slight ringing in her ears starting to raise, completely drowning out what de Pagaille was telling her. It was impossible. There was simply no way that it was true. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't.

She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath and slowly let it out before she opened them again. But the name on the canvas didn't change, it stayed the same as it had been, taunting her with its blackness.

No. It couldn't be true, de Pagaille had to have screwed something up, or she had.

But de Pagaille didn't touch the potion, not with her and he was a bloody ghost not someone with mind reading powers, the Legilimens or how Arcturus called them. He couldn't have known that this…

Yet, there it was the last name she expected to find on her quest. It was just a bloody name. But it was also a sign of a blood connection. Undeniable and present and taunting.

You asked for this, she though frantically. Arcturus had warned you on the day you'd first met him to consider the consequences. But you continued pushing because you wanted to make an informed decision.

But Arcturus knew the truth. Of course he did, he knew because Miranda knew and she knew that Hermione would find it here.

The ringing in her ears continued and she was only dimly aware that de Pagaille was saying something to her and a pen appeared in her hand. She concentrated on it for a moment and his face.

"Sign your name," he said slowly and calmly as if he was speaking to a small child.

She stared at the pen, unblinking.

She was supposed to sign her name. What for? Why was it so important to de Pagaille? Couldn't he see that her entire world came crashing around her? For the second time this summer even.

No. She couldn't do it because putting her name on canvas meant that she accepted what she found out and she. Did. Not. Accept. It.

Instead of answering or signing her name like she was asked to she dropped the pen on the table and started backing away from the table. Then she turned on her heel and made a dash for the door.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** Hermione gets in trouble.


	18. 7th & 8th August 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets in trouble and after the rescue admits the truth to Arcturus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 2200.
> 
> **AN:** Finally and yes, she says it. Enough said.
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen**

**Secrets & Keepers - Supernova**

**Chapter eighteen: 7** **th & 8th ** **August 1993**

She stared at the small shrub of roses in front of her without really seeing it. She had been staring at it for a long time, long enough for the park to slowly start getting dark.

Never before had she felt more lost that she did now. Not even when she realised that a bloody basilisk was slithering around the school. At least back then she had a clear aim, she needed to get to McGonagall or Dumbledore as fast as possible without dying, warning other students as she went.

But now…

It had taken her a long time to shake off the shock over what she discovered at de Pagaille's workshop. She had no idea how she made it back to the hotel safely from Place Cachée and she only had vague flashes of colliding with people on the way. Finally, when she was safe behind the locked doors of her room she collapsed on the bed. It had even taken her a longer moment to realise that she was still wearing her schoolbag over her shoulder.

Eventually, pressured by the call of nature, she got up to use the bathroom and avoided looking into the mirror at all cost but she found herself looking into one nevertheless when a couple minutes later she returned into her bedroom.

Her reflection didn't change. It looked the same as it did the day before, and the day before that. She'd tanned during the vacation, the same way she always did. Up until the beginning of the summer when she learned that she wasn't her parents biological child she believed that it was due to her mixed ancestry. She didn't burn in the sun, rather steadily acquired a bit darker complexion. Which considering her actual parentage was more puzzling than the one she believed in prior to finding out that she was adopted.

Nothing about her looks indicated that the man who fathered her was her biological father. She absolutely had not a single physical feature in common with the man. Light brown eyes, curly hair, straight nose. If he was responsible for anything about her looks then it was smoothing out the features that in Miranda, and most likely Hermione's biological mother, Larry called typical for purebloods high-cheekbones.

She looked nothing like the man which de Pagaille's canvas pointed out as her father. It was impossible that it was right.

Except, if Miranda didn't know what Hermione would find at de Pagaille's she wouldn't have sent her there. So she knew what Hermione was going to find. As did Arcturus. He might have been prohibited from revealing the truth to Hermione thanks to the spell which Hermione's biological mother put on the identity of both, but nevertheless he managed to slip in a thing or two.

Eventually, after a lot of agonising about what she should do with what she's found out she decided on a truly Gryffindor approach of ignoring the issue altogether. The name on the canvas didn't matter, as the man who fathered her was nothing more than a sperm donor, he only played a vital (and a traumatising for her biological mother) part in her conception and that was that. And it wasn't as if she could walk up to him and ask how many women he had raped.

With that conclusion reached, she decided to take the advantage of the rest of the vacation and share the information with Arcturus, Larry and Josephine upon her return to England. Before her were still two more days in Paris and a trip down to the South Coast before they would have to start thinking about returning to England.

Predictably everything went to hell in a handbasket within a day.

Next morning, miraculously recovered from the worst of her fake period, she joined her parents on a trip to the Louvre and had a great time there, admiring the art, the gardens and everything on the way. But then dinnertime arrived and while the dinner itself was delicious and the view from the outdoor garden of the restaurant was amazing, Dad predictably decided to behave like an arsehole the very moment he realised that behind him sat a group of very strong-jawed women. Luckily for them they either didn't know English or were simply ignoring Dad.

Hermione couldn't which had ended in an outburst during which she first called Dad a Hitler wannabe, then when she was chastised for lack of respect towards her father, she slipped out that he wasn't her actual father and then he called Hermione's biological mother a slut. Dinner had concluded with Mum and Hermione storming in the opposite directions of the restaurant.

Eventually after a couple minutes of wandering Hermione had found a park and had parked herself on a free bench.

She really didn't want to return to the hotel and neither did she want to participate in the rest of the trip. If only she'd kept her mouth shut.

At the very least the truth was out in the open and quite frankly her parents hadn't exactly risen to the occasion. Dad acted like an arsehole but Mum… Mum fixated herself on the one part that she and Hermione's biological mother had in common and when Dad started to insinuate that victims of rape are really responsible for what happened to them Mum stormed away. Hermione didn't blame her, she only regretted that she didn't slap Dad silly before she did.

That still left her in a park in an unfamiliar city, after dark and alone. But she had no idea where to go.

Maybe Place Cachée had some sort of a wizarding motel. She certainly had enough funds to spend the night there and maybe in the morning she would be able to decide what to do.

Finally she got up from the bench and started walking in the direction of an entrance, close to a busy street from where she could get a taxi to Montmere. She was approximately halfway through when she walked into the path of a group of drunk men. In an instant she realised how she looked, dressed in a relatively short, summer dress with no sleeves. She definitely didn't look like a woman but neither did she look like a child.

She stopped dead in her tracks and swallowed, hoping that the merry bunch of fuckwits would simply pass by where she stood. And they almost did but then one of them had turned towards the other and spotted her.

She barely caught something that she understood as 'hey lassie' before she turned on the heel of her sandal and bolted as if she had a Cerberus chasing after her. At the very least she would feel safer with a Cerberus at her heels.

They gave chase and very quickly she became aware that she wouldn't be able to outrun them as she started praying for some sort of a miracle. A police patrol or anything. And just as the pounding of their feet had gotten closer she remembered about the pendant from Arcturus.

She reached for it just as she stumbled on the path and she found herself falling headfirst to the ground.

_8_ _th_ _August 1993_

The awareness of her surroundings came to her very slowly, starting from the slight pounding in her temples through cold dampness between her legs to a change of air around her.

Then the last thing she could remember hit with a full force and she barely kept herself from groaning. Her right temple was still pounding and she could still feel the dampness between her legs but the room around her was very, very quiet. So after what felt like ages she dared to open her eyes, just wide enough to examine her surroundings.

The first thing that she saw was that she was lying on an absurdly large bed, that felt very soft under her body. Then she saw that someone was sitting next to her and she dared to fully open her eyes.

Next to her bed, reclining slightly in a high-backed rocking chair was snoozing Arcturus. His fingers were stapled together across his middle and his head was tilted to the side but it was definitely Arcturus.

So she was safe, she realised with huge relief that was tinted with worry by the situation going between her legs. So she raised the coverlet to check why she felt the dampness in the area.

"Bollocks," she cursed when she saw that both her nightgown and the sheet were crimson with blood.

"Mrph," she heard Arcturus mutter before he woke up completely and asked with concern in his voice, "Hermione?! How are you feeling?"

"Bloody wonderful," she replied before she could stop herself, as there was something as too much information.

"Figuratively or…" started Arcturus and he hesitated which made her look at him. "Ah," he hummed. "If I may?" he asked.

She nodded slowly and she observed him as he pulled his wand from his sleeve and with a couple of swishes of it she found herself, the bedding and her nightgown clean from the mess. He barely finished doing that when a familiar bottle of potion appeared in his hand.

"Here, drink it," he instructed her as he offered it to her.

"How do you do that?" she asked sceptically.

"I had a younger sister, a wife and a teenage daughter, in that order. I also had a mother that made it very clear that any sensible family man should be able to aid the women in his family if the need arose," he replied. "My poor daughter started her courses when my wife was visiting her relatives and it was quite early in her teenage years. My wife thought that we had a little more time for explanation so that honour had befallen on me."

"Doesn't the potion have a relatively short shelf-life?" she asked curiously.

"It does," agreed Arcturus. "Louise insisted that we should have a batch. Now could you tell me what happened? I only know that the elves found you collapsed in the entrance hall with a really nasty bump on your forehead. They woke me up only for Louise to kick me out of the room until she ascertained that you only had a mild concussion."

"I…" started Hermione and hesitated. "I was stupid," she admitted finally.

Arcturus looked at her expectantly.

"Dad put his foot in his mouth again," she sighed heavily. "We got into an argument about respecting parents, I blurted out that he wasn't my actual Dad. He called my mother a slut and started saying something about how being raped was her fault. That got Mum to storm out, I stormed away right after her but in a different direction. I sat down in a park to calm myself and I was planning on heading back when I ran into a bunch of drunk retards," she added grimly. "I…" she paused.

"You're safe here," said Arcturus in a calm, soothing tone.

"I know," she admitted with a sigh. "I just wish that this mess didn't happen."

"You can't and shouldn't feel responsible for the decisions of grown men," replied Arcturus with a shrug.

"Well, I'm an effect of such a decision so…" she replied with a shrug.

"I was meaning to ask about it next," said Arcturus.

"I really don't want to talk about it," she replied with a grimace. "Nothing has changed. It's not like I can walk up to my biological father and ask him how many women he raped and when."

"At the very least you know who he is," pointed out Arcturus.

"And you want to compare notes, don't you?" she asked sarcastically.

"At the very least I can confirm or deny his identity," he added.

"How likely it is that de Pagaille got it wrong?" she asked sceptically. "And why didn't I find Miranda or my mother?"

"Because as keen as your ancestors have been of leaving behind bastards they had no business in doing so in France," replied Arcturus. "Europe wasn't on the list of their usual hunting grounds. Africa, the Middle East, various places in Asia, yes but not Europe," he paused for a moment. "Miranda knew that and as far as I can tell she only wanted confirmation from de Pagaille that your father indeed had used his services."

"What for?" she asked simply. "It's not like he found anything there."

"And what were you hoping to find?" asked Arcturus pointedly.

"My mother, whose name I still don't know," she replied quickly.

"You know that our discussion would have been much easier if you actually said his name," Arcturus pointed out.

"If I do, then it will become real," she muttered.

"It is real," said Arcturus with a small shrug. "And a couple of wise women have told me many times over the course of my life: you can't start handling the problem without acknowledging that you have one."

"And how do you propose to handle mine?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Either with Gryffindor blunt force or a little of Slytherin cunning," he replied. "Both are fine with me."

She snorted under her breath at that. Then she took a deep breath and slowly let it out before she said, "Severus Snape. My father is Severus Snape."

**The End**

_Till the next part of the series:_

**Secrets & Keepers - Entropy**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **For those interested, below you can find part of the template for Entropy which I will remove next week when the actual story will be posted.**
> 
> **Summary:** Harry & Hermione learn that as weird as everything become in the aftermath of learning devastating news is that life actually goes on. There's a Dark Lord to destroy, a manipulative Headmaster to overthrow, family bonds and new friendships to establish and old ones to maintain. A direct sequel to S&K - Collision Course and S&K - Supernova.
> 
> **Author's note:** This story will make very little sense to anyone who hadn't read both Secrets & Keepers – Collision Course and Secrets & Keepers – Supernova. The reading order doesn't matter as both exist in their own private bubbles that don't affect the other. Chronologically Supernova starts way earlier than Collision Course but both of them conclude on the same day. If someone prefers writing order then Collision Course was written prior to Supernova. This story will contain spoilers to both and will liberally include and reference characters and information learned in prior instalments. Because I'm a generous soul who wants to give some of the readers that read Collision Course but hadn't read Supernova time to catch up chapter one will only contain the crowd from Collision Course.
> 
> **Posted on Tuesdays, starting from 15th December 2020.**
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen (Nitraz).**

**Author's Note:**

> **Updates Tuesday until I would be able to determine how many chapters it would have in the end. On a good note I know when it would end, at the same point as Collision Course had.**


End file.
